Jane Eyre: an alternate ending
by NBRoberts
Summary: St John turns Jane away from Moor House in a moment of grief over the death of his father. Later, he will regret that unchristian act. But right now, a search party discovers Jane close to death upon the moor...
1. Chapter 1 - Glimpses Into Happiness

A huge Jane Eyre fan, this is my first post and I would love to know what you think of my alternate ending (this is what I secretly hoped would happen when I first read Jane Eyre!). Please review, and if you like it I will gladly write more. :)

Chapter One

'If you admit this beggar-woman, St John, I declare she'll carry herself down in the night to unbolt the door for her followers – what o' your sisters then?'

'She looks too weak for trouble, Hannah.'

'We know what the Lord says o' wolves in sheep's clothing! She has feigned this look to gain entry. You can't be too careful with her sort.'

'I shall sit up with her.'

'I'm fear'd ye've not the energy, St John, having travelled so far.'

This man – this _St John_ – turned in the doorway and almost looked at me. Perhaps he did look at me; it was hard to determine through the rain and darkness with an enfeebled vision.

'I've not the focus for this to-night,' he declared morosely, covering his eyes briefly with his hand. He paused and erelong subjoined, 'Hannah, you will give this woman some milk and a piece of bread. I should not like her to perish here of want.'

I saw his figure move away, towards the warm light denied me, and vanish inside the house. I heard no more than the door close; then it opened again. Hannah stepped out with her candle in hand, and looked round from the doorstep, as if to ascertain no assailant lay in wait.

'There,' she said firmly, setting down for me a mug, and pushing some bread into my hand. 'Now, the gentleman 'ere ha' been brought low by the death o' his father. Don't bother him more; drink and eat up, and move off, if ye've an ounce o' honesty!'

She too deserted me; having clapped the door shut she again bolted it within. Once more I was left alone in the darkness: abandoned; shunned. It recalled to me Mrs Reed and the red room. The idea of dying then was very different to my idea of dying now. If I had passed away in my uncle's bedchamber, a pang of gladness would I have felt to think of my negligent relations finding me lifeless in the morning. Now, however, the idea of dying on this doorstep seemed worse to me than dying in a street or on a frequented road.

'If I can but eat my last supper here,' thought I, quite broken, 'I shall return to the hill to find somewhere I might rest everlastingly.'

I barely felt the bread between my numbed fingers, but dipped it in the milk I did, before putting it to my lips. Of the bread and milk, I ate and drank all. When the rain had softened, I rose slowly. The food revived me; for how long was impossible to surmise. If I could but find a little shelter near this very house to sleep the night's remainder, it might be well for me to try St John again in the morning. He seemed to have the capacity to help; if he had not been suffering the passing of his father, I believe he may have admitted me.

No shelter could I find in the garden or by the house, or against the hedge. All the ground swam in puddles. Resolved to return to that desolate and drenched hill, I moved towards the blackness.

These moments, reader, I gladly spent with my master in sweet reverie, where no sin of the flesh could be committed. His company shielded me from the harshness of the cool wind on my damp skin, and fought off the fear of a lonely end. During these glimpses into happiness, I believe I walked farther than I thought possible, and may have curved my path in the darkness; presently, I saw a light far afield, which might have been from the house I left behind. The rain again increased. Soon, I found it was not the same light, but a softer glow, as of a lantern, small and close.

'Perhaps it is merely a guiding star,' thought I, in a state of desperation and perhaps delusion. This was before the light separated into two lights! I heard shouting; I heard strong voices, calling out – perhaps they say 'Rain! Rain!' through the deluge. One step more I could not go.

'I must lay here,' I said internally. My body obeyed. I lost my footing and fell forward onto the saturated ground, thin with moss, thick with mud. I laid my head on my arms and closed my eyes, for my lids weighed heavy as rocks. It was a long while since I'd heard the shouting. Indeed, the rain had stopped and I felt a light on my eyes. I unclosed them to perceive a waxing moon appearing from under those dripping curtains. Suddenly I heard a voice roar the word I most wished to hear, and to utter myself –

'_Rochester_! – _Rochester_!' yelled the unfamiliar voice, and it continued, 'Rochester! _Here_! Here!' and the voice echoed between my ears, or over the moor, like a recurring dream.

The sound of feet landed on the wet grass nearby. Distant hooves grew louder, ever closer. Another set of feet dismounted and eagerly approached. There was a thud and a sliding gush in the mire at my side.

'Jane!' my master's voice rippled against my ear – what a warm whisper! And a whisper more penetrating than the loudest cry. 'Jane! Jane!'

'Does she live?' the initial voice inquired.

I had no strength to move my eyes, nor lift my head to confirm it. I felt myself raised slightly; arms encircled me, frozen shaky fingers touched my face, which if I had strength to, I would have turned to kiss!

'Get me water, man! – Jane! Oh, my little darling! Forgive me! – forgive me, Jane!' A sobbing stifled his voice.

Light gushes of water flowed near my ears, and a wetted cloth or handkerchief gently washed my face. After which, water was applied directly to my lips. Suddenly the ground beneath me fell away, as my body parted from it, and those muscular arms responsible held me with a determination to never let go. I know not to where I was borne, or how long the intervals of consciousness lasted, but soon I felt the turbulence of a rock-strewn way, and heard the sound of rolling carriage wheels beneath me. Soft yellow light penetrated my eyelids and slipped under my lashes – beyond, I saw the fringe of blue fabric framing a window of dark blue horizon. A lantern swung against it, which held the light I perceived.

Mr Rochester supported me; presently his closed eyes were peaceful. He was not asleep; his arms cradled me, encaging me in a position that required mindful energy. Those great jetty eyebrows, fixed in a position of anxiety, and other familiar grim features expressed ease too. My heart might have burst with relief to be with him again in the flesh. But my head too sharply directed some apprehension its way, to steady my actions and remind that pining organ of mine: 'Should I be locked in a room, too? How far will he venture now to keep me near? How should I act?'

'Do not act at all,' returned an inward voice. 'True love has no stage and no players. Games are for winning or losing; if you play, someone _must_ lose.'

I trusted this voice and felt relief wash over me while I committed to stay true to my heart and to Mr Rochester's – though only for the duration of my recovery.

'I have terrified him,' thought I. 'He deserves my gratitude and then later my honesty.'

I wished to return to sleep but presently a dryness scratched in my throat that I could not endure. I must have water.

'Sir?' I muttered – perhaps the word was too cold for this moment, but familiar enough for a beginning. It issued from my arid lips more eagerly than I had intended or thought possible.

His arms flinched; his head whipped round. His eyes sprang open and fixed on mine.

'Jane! You live! – you live!' bringing me up against him, stooping his head and putting his warm face to mine. With no expectation, he instinctively swept his lips across my cold gaunt cheek and pressed them firmly to my chapped lips.

Reader, I welcomed it, like the Eucharist: to taste of his body was nourishment indeed! Perhaps _this_ was the paradise I had hoped to receive me, even temporarily. My future was still uncertain; I yet felt close to death!

'Can you rise, my darling?' he asked, pulling his head back only inches. 'And drink something?'

He brought me slowly to a seated position where I discovered he had removed my bonnet and allowed my hair to fall naturally, which he smoothed with his hand away from my face.

'Your bonnet was all mud and rain, Janet;' he said, while readying a flask, 'your hair is yet damp! Here –' He put wine to my lips, substituting this for bread and repeating the exchange. 'Are you revived, Jane? We are almost home.'

_Home_. This should have put me on edge, but already I had decided to allow myself freedom of discomfort and fear. I will allow myself to feel happiness at seeing him and comfort at feeling him; for me, it was pleasure to comfort him in return. My escape was a failure, but it would have been a failure whether Mr Rochester discovered me or not. I was to perish on the moor – that was certain. If escape is not the answer, I must decide what is. Only if Mr Rochester intends his original role, I must try something else, but not yet.

My master lifted me from the carriage and carried me over the threshold at an hour when perhaps everyone was in bed: it was very dark. Conscious but too weak to do anything but observe, I found my eyes absorbed little. His unremitting strength conveyed me up the stairs and through the chill gallery to a bedchamber, familiar and very warm, which glowed with a waning fire.

'Now, Jane,' he whispered, 'don't waste vital breath in talking, and never fear; you are safe! Nothing and no one shall harm you. You will rest and rest only. All are asleep and I mean to keep it that way.'

He lay me down upon the foot of the bed. I saw him move away and heard him vigorously stir the fire until the room was newly aglow. I did not see him return to the bed because a tiredness came upon me that I could not fight off, even as I felt and beheld Mr Rochester removing my cloak, then my shoes. His muscular hands soon turned me on my side, where he began feeling, and then removing, my black silk frock, which was drenched in rain and mire.

'Please, sir?' I uttered, to which he didn't respond. His full attention he placed directly in his task. Not an ounce of strength had I to stop him, nor breath enough to talk him down. 'I must trust him,' I thought, because that was all I could do.

My dress now removed, he felt the feet of my stockings and, as I very well knew, found them to be quite wet. He removed them from the knee before unfastening my camisole and corset by the gentlest motions, clearing his throat as he did. An acceleration in my heart rate and exclamation of 'Sir!' did not faze him as my chemise and petticoat were next to undergo scrutiny. Indeed, these were the final layers of any woman's cumbersome attire. He felt these only round the edges, and, I suppose – certainly, I hoped! – determining them to be dry, he left them _in-situ_. Again, he lifted me but this time to the head of the bed, having pulled back the coverlet, and placing me down pulled the blanket over me.

He kissed my brow and whispered, 'Sleep, now, Janet.'

I obeyed.

Thanks for reading!

P.S. If you do like my ideas and style, then you might like my novel, Halton Cray, which is available on Amazon for a bargain. Inspired by Jane Eyre, it is a contemporary paranormal romance with similar tones set in a Tudor manor in southeast England.

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	2. Chapter 2 - The Master's Wife

Chapter Two – The Master's Wife

It could not have been long before I half woke to the sound of voices in my room. Mr Rochester's voice was unmistakable, the most distinct to me at least. The second took longer to distinguish: it was Mr Carter, the surgeon, who had attended Mr Mason that dreadful night. Presently he spoke some sentences, which my brain could not ascribe to sense.

'Nothing, you say?' questioned Mr Rochester, his voice booming in hopeful and delighted tones. 'Are you quite sure, man?'

'Other than exhaustion,' replied the surgeon, 'nothing threatens her life so long as she remains resting. She will be a little hoarse, but there is no onset of pneumonia: there is no wheezing in the chest. If she had been out there any longer, it would be a different diagnosis: your discovery was timely. She must have plenty of rest and warmth, and nourishment by small degree. Imperatively, no stress. Taking these things into account, she could be back to herself in as little as a fortnight.'

I heard the man's tread walk the room, which sat in the same shade of night, with a dimming fire in the grate.

'I'm much obliged to you, Carter.' The door unclosed. 'I'll see you out.'

'If anything changes, send your man.'

Their voices faded and I fell promptly back to sleep.

When I stirred again it was still dark, and I found I had a little more strength than before. The fire yet glowed across from the foot of my bed, which was strange, because the room had an altogether different layout to my own room (the fireplace had been to one side of my couch). I lifted my head to discover I was in my master's room: in his very bed! And there was my master seated, or slumped, in his high back armchair next to the fire, fully asleep and facing me. I felt the garments about me, discovering that I lay yet in my chemise and petticoat to which my master had stripped me. My heart thumped with some anxiety. I spied a cup of water beside the bed, which I reached with some effort, sipped at, returned in silence, and then calmed myself best I could. I soon resumed my slumber.

Some bustling over me caused me to rouse, but I couldn't yet learn what or who it was. The strong amber glow of daylight prevented me from opening my eyes, but eventually I saw that it was a bright day outside Mr Rochester's window. (I remembered full well where I was, with a pang in my heart of both kindled affection and wary propriety!)

The figure bustling gave off an aroma of freshly baked bread, and appeared small and blurry to my heavy eyes. I then recognised Leah; she stood over the bed straightening the covers with such verve in her movements that watching her alone renewed my fatigue. My body ached and my clouded head pounded. In her arms were my chemise and petticoat that I had been wearing. Now I lay in a clean nightdress.

'Good afternoon, Miss Eyre!' she said quickly on discovering I was awake. She curtseyed. 'Master bade me wash and change you. How do you feel?' She leaned in closer.

'A little better, thank you, Leah.' My voice was hoarse; my breath short. 'How long have I slept?'

'Two full nights, miss. You don't sound well! Do you feel strong enough to eat? Master tried you with some broth, but vowed he had little luck. I brought up a tray with some milk and ham, bread and– _don't_ try to get up, miss! Only sit up, if you can. You'd do better to stay in bed.'

'I have some strength, Leah, and with it I am determined to get in to my own bed.'

'Oh, miss! Master should have woken the house to put you in my bed, or Mrs Fairfax's, or anyone's but his own, to be sure. Only he said in morning he was determined to keep watch over you himself, till the surgeon could attend.'

'But what is wrong with my own bed?'

Leah's eyes went to the floor, and then checked the door to ensure it remained closed.

'The master's wif– that is, the woman resident upstairs, escaped her room and set fire to your bed four nights since. Mrs Fairfax is readying your new bedchamber.'

'She– _Mrs _Rochester is still upstairs then, with Grace?'

'Yes, miss. I'm so sorry! We none of us knew who she was, and master gave orders never to mention her. Even now he says we're not to speak of her as his wife, but none of us can think differently.'

'Indeed,' thought I. – 'And where is your master, Leah?'

Her head turned to the door, to the sudden sound of approaching feet on the gallery.

'I believe this is he, miss.'

I knew it was he, by his tread – the boldness and sheer energy in those strides. Perhaps I should be annoyed with him for placing me in such an awkward position, by sleeping me in his bed and allowing servants to witness it. But Leah was not stupid and saw how ill I was; she was not cruel-hearted either, and I could only hope wouldn't use this situation for tittle-tattle. As for Mr Rochester, he had saved my life, when I most wished it would be. And perhaps there was no other bed in that moment. Indeed, he had not entered it with me – that I knew, and gave thanks. On this thought of the goodness in his heart, my own lit with delight to see his face any moment. My shrunken stomach doubled over as Mr Rochester knocked impatiently on his own bedchamber door, inquiring in that deep familiar voice, 'Leah, are you finished? May I enter?'

Upon opening it, Leah concurred that she had, adding that I was risen before quickly making away.

My master entered, turning those black orbs to me with concern their main operator. They smiled with a devotion that softened the rest of his fretful face. It was well for me I had not the energy to show or hide the keen pleasure I felt to be with him again. He closed the door behind him and stood there a moment with his hands behind his back and his back against the door, looking refreshed, as if a night or two in an armchair was the best remedy for exhaustion. He stared long and I determined to meet that stare, disembarrassed, even while I sat up against his pillows in a nightdress (I had drawn a shawl about my shoulders, which Leah had left me on the bed).

'How do you do, Jane?'

'I am better, thank you, Mr Rochester.'

'Well that is not the voice of Jane Eyre! With what ancient elf did you exchange it for a morsel of bread in that bog where I found you? You must have done! – no person with meat on their bones could have survived so long with nothing in their stomachs! I saw, Jane, how you took nothing to exchange for food or shelter; the very pearls I made a gift to you, you abandoned, like your pursuer – cruel, cruel deserter, Jane! But I would have found you, my fairy, had you travelled to the moon alone. I was never so far behind you, Jane. The very day you took the omnibus and mislaid your little box. Was it a breadcrumb clue for me to find? The driver informed me that its carrier, under the guise of a troubled mortal, had paid him with every coin she could summon into his hand! So I know you had not a shilling for food!'

He closed his eyes, turning his head towards the fireplace at the other end of the room. Then he advanced and knelt beside the bed.

'Can you ever forgive me, Jane, for driving you away? I am a fool! – I am a fool, Jane, to have rubbed salt in those wounds I inflicted.'

'Do please calm yourself, sir; I am here now, alive and well enough, as you see.' I touched his head, which presently bent towards my lap. 'I was able to procure a little food.'

'How, Jane? What food? Did you sprinkle stardust on the mossy stones and turn them to bread and cheese? Did you breathe incantations on the heather and grow grapes from their nectar?'

'I begged a little bread and porridge, sir.'

He was a proud man and heard this in torment; sheer hunger would have been easier for him to receive.

'Did I drive my Jane to beggary!' He took my hands in both of his. 'Tell me, Janet, truant that you are! Tell me truly – do you intend to run away again?'

'No, sir.'

'That is a fiction! You say that in fear of my next action.'

'It is not a fiction, but the literal truth. You do not desire me to lie? Shall I tell you only what you expect to hear? Look into my eyes, sir– _sir_?– Edward!'

Here I gained his attention in the form of wide and unfailing eye contact.

'Say it again, Jane! Say it and I shall do whatever you desire, whatever you ask!'

His eyes flashed in a movement of sincerity, presenting me with a sweet excuse to give in. 'Edward! Oh, Edward!' I repeated, before recollecting my good sense and folding my hands in my lap. 'I am a reasonable creature. I hope you will allow me to act as one, and I will in turn believe you to act as one, too. It was impulsive of me to flee, but I felt it a necessity; I felt forced.'

'Oh, Jane!' he cried, resting his arms on the bed as if in prayer. 'I should never have pushed my little darling into a corner. I only intended to have my equal. I shall never force you into anything, if you promise you will not flee?'

'I am determined, sir, to be honest and open with you. It does nothing to be anything else; I have learnt that much. I intend to teach you honesty at least, by way of example. I do not intend to run away again. You may find me another situation, if you insist on that responsibility, or I shall easily undertake the task myself. I say _easily_ and not happily, because to leave you does _not _make me happy. It is nonetheless necessary for me to detach myself from you. I see you as married, whether you do or not. I am determined never to marry anybody else, ever. Moreover, I shall be no one's mistress but my own. You should know my character well enough by now that to corner me will have the opposite effect to what you desire, and that any attempt to lock me up will devour my sanity, and then all this really would be in vain. You will drive me mad.'

'I'll go to the Devil first!' He sprang up, and making room next to my legs seated himself there. 'I am not in the habit, by the bye, of locking up my subordinates like some depraved Sultan of Turkey. Yet if you doubt my character, Jane, and think me capable of such barbarism, then it is my own fault. I am humbled, Jane. I will not again risk your life! I swear it!'

He took a mug from the tray Leah had brought up.

'Milk, young lady, still warm. Drink!'

'Thank you, sir, but I shall be able to do this much.'

I took the mug from his hands and smiled at him. It felt right to commend his words.

'What happened to "Edward!"' he inquired right away, 'so suddenly returned to "sir"? I want my name on your lips, little wanderer!'

'I told you, Mr Rochester, I am a reasonable creature. I may very well decide that an occasional reward for your good behaviour is appropriate. As I said, I shall teach you, because teaching is something I can do. And it is something you have need of.'

'It is true; you've taught me many a thing and now, like Pilot to me, I am obedient to you. Command me, Miss Eyre, on promise of the occasional treat! A bone, perhaps? A pet on the head? A kiss on the nose?'

'How is Adele and Mrs Fairfax, sir? They've not been in to see me, but I suppose that is your doing?'

'There! That is what I have been taught thus far! This is how I am spoken to by my ward's governess!'

'Then dismiss me, sir.'

'Never! I've something vital to learn yet. – You hardly touch the milk, Jane. Sip it again.'

'Now let me be serious, Mr Rochester. I wish to return to my own room directly. I appreciate your great kindness in giving up your bed, in your care too (instinctively, I took hold of his hand), but you see how I mustn't stay here longer, especially now that Leah has seen I am well enough to move.'

'Yes, yes!' He waved on my protest with one hand, while keeping his other tranquil within my grasp. 'I shall speak to Mrs Fairfax by and by. She has been busy preparing your new apartment. While I am at it, I shall allow that foolish child, Adele, to come singing and dancing in here. She has not stopped asking after you since you abandoned us. You seem surprised, Jane – why is that? Ah! You supposed I had already packed her off to school? Well, I have laid down a good sum for a placement at a respectable institution some miles off. You must not be cross with me, Janet – you yourself have sworn that you will not remain as her governess.'

'Yes, sir.'

'In which case, if you do not remain, and I do not engage a new governess for her, I must send her to school.'

'It is the right action, sir, the _only_ action to take.' I suffered an ache in my chest as I removed my hand from his. He took the indication and stood up slowly, before looking at me long and hard. Breaking his stare, he took up the tray Leah had left and placed it on the bed beside me.

'Now, Miss Eyre,' said he in a new and cheery tone, 'we shall speak no more of farewells to-day. Surgeon's orders. You must eat something; you are vanishing before my very eyes, you witch!'

He smiled and moved towards the door, stopping before it and resting his hand on the doorknob.

'With your permission, Jane,' he said, turning back a moment. 'I should like to visit you once more to-day? To inquire after your health and say goodnight to you, my pale little friend – my truest friend, whom I feared I should never see again.'

'Yes, sir,' I replied impulsively, thinking in that moment that it would not make me happy, nor easy, to wait until to-morrow. He hastily quit the room as if in fear I would change my mind, which I may well have done.

If Mr Rochester had been as passionate, as forceful, as difficult or demanding as he had been the night I resolved to flee Thornfield, I should not have answered him so definitely, so invitingly, and instinctively, 'yes, sir.' – but I found myself in that moment quite at his mercy. He listened to my words and accepted them without a quarrel or remonstration, seeming to have resolved in doing what was _right_. That very glint of remorse in his eyes; in his words and– and I must rally my senses and strengths, to keep from allowing one moment of weakness in his presence! 

…

Thanks for reading!

P.S. If you do like my ideas and style, then you might like my novel, Halton Cray, which is available on Amazon for a bargain. Inspired by Jane Eyre, it is a contemporary paranormal romance set in a Tudor manor in southeast England.


	3. Chapter 3 - Out Of Bed Already

Chapter Three – Out Of Bed Already

I ate half of what was on the tray. Within an hour of finishing my meal, Adele came to see me by herself. She came running into Mr Rochester's room with the very sunshine for a smile, saying in French –

'Miss Eyre! Miss Eyre! I have missed you so much!' jumping up on the bed, flinging open her arms to surround and embrace me. 'I was so afraid you would never come back! And when Mr Rochester discovered you were gone he was so upset that I saw tears falling from his eyes, and so did Sophie and Mrs Fairfax. For a moment, I thought it could not be him! He ran out the door yelling your name, and called John to send for help. He set off on Mesrour right away to find you and he did not come back for days.'

'Thank you, Adele. It is lovely to see you, too. Let us talk about something else besides Mr Rochester, and in English please. He found me and here I am. Sit here, close by my side, and tell me what you have been doing these last five days?'

'Miss Eyre, it has been a full week since you went away!'

Adele proceeded to inform me on what she had spent the time doing, for the most part of it idle and in angst for my safety. She told me how 'She could not sing a note or dance a step while I was abroad.'

I soon discovered, much to my surprise and delight, that Adele had pressed on with some sums I set out in her workbook a week since. In addition, she completed sewing some ribbon to a bonnet to improve her needlecraft. Her smile on producing the item for appraisal kinked as she began talking of not going to school after all.

'What do you mean, Adele? Does Mr Rochester say that you are to remain here now?'

'Oh no, Miss Eyre. Mr Rochester tells me I shall go to school very soon. But now you are back there is no need for me to go.'

'I know this is confusing for you, Adele, but I am afraid that you must go to school as planned.'

'Why? If you are not going to be married then you can stay as my governess?'

'It is not possible.'

'Why not? I don't understand!'

'Oh, Adele, please don't cry. Hush now my dear. I must find a new situation and you must go to school. That is the way it will be. But do you know what shall please me very much when I am missing you?' I hastily wiped a tear from my cheek before she looked up to me with large curious eyes.

'What, Miss Eyre?'

'Reading your letters and writing back often. You must tell me all about your school and its people. Will you promise?'

'I shall promise, if you promise that we shall see each other again soon?'

'Oh, Adele! It is written in the stars. We shall certainly see each other again many times, and I pray very soon.'

'Then I promise to write always.'

Once Adele had quit my room, I expected Mrs Fairfax to enter it. As yet, she did not come to see me. I worried why. Surely she did not blame me or think me imprudent for fleeing when the danger was at this very house. While I pondered endless suppositions for the good widow's avoidance, I busied my hands with correcting Adele's needlework, finding a small miscalculation in the front, which was nothing that could not be unknit and rethread correctly. With a ploughing brain and idle limbs, my hands begged for some task. I had not strength enough to rise from the bed and move around as I desired.

After dinner, which Leah brought me on a tray, and removed an hour later, Mr Rochester called upon me as arranged. It was a brilliant clear sky for dusk out the window when he knocked on the door, and entered it in the keenest fashion – as if I were his wife, sat up in _our_ bed, stitching Adele's bonnet. The sudden idea became an image of fancy and I longed for its authenticity.

It was not real, and Mr Rochester was merely taking it upon himself to inform me my new chamber was ready. I moved to get up quickly to avoid those all too eager arms of his carrying the 'provoking invalid' as he termed me. I would have managed it too, if not for an unsuspected bout of coughing, which rose up and rendered me incapable of anything for a few moments, and by which my master was alerted to my scheme.

'Here, Jane,' he said, handing me water.

I drank and gradually recovered. As if without a moment to lose, he grasped me firmly about my waist and under the knees, and with his brawny arms elevated me to rest against his large and pounding chest. Beneath two dark smiling planets, in only my nightdress, with the shawl drawn about me, I strongly protested –

'Sir, I can manage!'

'I see you can manage coughing like a consumptive, Jane.'

'Mr Rochester, I am perfectly capable of walking.'

'But, Jane, you've nothing on your feet and the floor is ice.'

'I had slippers; did they survive?'

'If this should be the last time I carry you, Jane, may I relish it? Such a stern gaze! Very well – very well, but we are now midway and your slippers are in your new apartment. And here we are, you see.'

My new room was nearer Mr Rochester's. We did not pass my former chamber, so I could not peek at the remnants of the madwoman's efforts to burn me in my bed. Mr Rochester set me down in a grand four-poster, his hands keeping hold of me longer than necessary.

'He is a married man!' I reminded myself, to which a treacherous voice subjoined, 'A married man whom saved my life; a man I love with all my heart and who loves me in return! A man I could not part with again if he keeps this gentleness up.'

I felt the need to provoke him into a harsher, if not more tyrannical mood, in order to keep from failing myself. He had long since set me down on the bed, but was busying his fingers tucking me up within the blankets. I therefore used brute force to push those wedded hands of his away.

'Hardened thing!' he fumed, watching my face carefully while I drew up the covers. I then commenced scrutinising my new room, noticing to my horror a sofa near the fireplace, made up with blankets and a pillow.

'Who _else_ is going to sleep in here?' I demanded.

'Suspicion is another look that becomes you well, Janet. But doubt me no more! Leah will sleep in here with you to-night. I want you under someone's eye and– and without causing you to get up, you understand the necessity of bolting your door?'

'In this house, sir, I certainly do.'

'This apartment is bigger, Jane, and better than your former chamber, is it not?'

'Sir, do not think for a moment I am unaware of why I'm not in my old room. I am not impressed by grand apartments, which you very well know. I am impressed by – by what, sir?'

'By honesty, Jane?'

'Oh, so you do know me a little.'

'A little! I should be in Italy if I did not know you, Jane. I should be in mortal dread of continuing on a road to ruin, shoddier than any road I have taken this past twelvemonth, to be sure, if I did not know you, Jane. In short, I should be with the Devil! – God may have checked me, Janet, but He did it because there is hope of my reformation yet. He answered my prayers when I begged Him to let me find you.'

'With what did you bargain, sir, if you found me?'

'Do you think I made some promises, Jane?'

'Oh, certainly, Mr Rochester! It is only natural to offer up sacrifices for those things we want. And you, sir, passionate as you are, out there each night searching endless countryside for my small frame. Either you blasphemed at the sky in the acutest way, or you offered up a sacrifice! I'm sure of that, but I rather hope it was the latter.'

'Then you're in luck, Janet! I prayed realistically. I promised God I would treat you right, Jane, and that if He would aid me in finding you before it was too late, I would do best by you, even if it meant parting with you.'

'Did you mean it, sir?'

'Yes.'

'At the time?'

'I meant it then and I mean it now, Jane, because I love you.'

'Then best by me, you ought to know, is not to speak of love for each other.'

'Yes, Jane.'

A pause.

'Jane?'

'Yes, sir?'

'Did you not fear you might die out there?'

'No, sir, I did not fear it; in fact, I welcomed it.'

He laughed. 'You strange unearthly thing! I should have guessed at such a reply as that. But, Jane, you do not welcome it now?'

'No, sir, not now. Right now, I feel ready to sleep more. My voice is fading fast, as you hear.'

'Well, I hope that ancient elf returns your little stern voice by morning, so I can be taught how to behave like a better man,' said he, getting up from my bed, smiling, 'and sit, like an obedient dog.'

'Goodnight, sir.'

'Goodnight, Jane. Sleep well, my – ' He shook his head and abruptly quit my room.

Mr Rochester sent Leah up, having given her instructions to fasten the door and virtually wall ourselves up within.

Perhaps it was having had Leah for a companion, or because she had fastened the door securely, that I slept the entire night through, right until the sun had well risen. Leah must've risen with her, since the room contained none but me. With my energy restored enough to rise myself, I did so, and dressed myself – asking Leah to help me when she returned with a tray. I ate a good deal of toast, and drank two cups of tea, reflecting meanwhile on Mr Rochester's behaviour. There was a kind of additional nourishment in that, which I thrived on more than any surplus food. His repentance was genuine; I trusted he would not take drastic steps with me. How long I could remain in the same house with him, no matter his present attitude, was another question entirely. With that dangerous woman upstairs and my feelings for her husband, and his for me. It was not a situation in which I could remain, I knew this much.

I had grown sick of the hot bedchamber that confined me day and night; I desperately sought the warmth of summer in its place. I wanted to walk in the garden to release my thoughts on the breeze. I strolled endlessly, as if I had bounds of energy, savouring that refreshing warm gust on my face. While looking over the familiar flowerbeds, I felt a great pang of guilt at enjoying freedom of my confinement, when Bertha Mason could not. I no longer wished to walk in the garden. I saw Mrs Fairfax through her parlour window, undoubtedly reading her morning portion of Scripture. She looked up and through the glass quite innocently. She spied me and I made a motion to visit her. A footstep on the gravel nearby stopped mine in an instant: it was Mr Rochester.

'Out of bed already!'

'I was in need of fresh air, sir, and exercise.'

'I would have thought you'd had enough of those, Jane.' He smoked as he talked. 'So you haven't quite managed to negotiate your voice back from that grandfather elf, I hear. What could he be doing with it, I wonder! – but what is that look for, Jane?'

'I'm sorry to – in just a moment, sir – stop short your good humour, by reminding you of something deplorable to your ears.'

'There is no need to mention the _thing_, Jane, I am no longer disposed to cheerfulness. You are going to name that fearsome hag bound to me for all my days.'

'Yes, sir. Though it pains me to pain you, it is true that your situation – indeed, our situation, is now common knowledge.'

'And what, pray tell me, Janet, were you going to mention specifically?'

'Only that now her existence is known, there is no reason not to consider installing her at such a place as one you aforementioned. I have read newspaper articles on the good treatment and general well-being of their patients, where they are encouraged to play games and take exercise. Here am I strolling in the fresh air, while that poor creature is kept locked up like a beast–'

'You do think me barbaric!' broke from his lips, a puff of smoke chasing the words. 'Upon my word, Jane, I thought you spoke out of anxiety, about being locked up yourself, and in the heat of the moment. I did not for one second believe you thought I enjoyed keeping _my wife_ under lock and key all these years! Do you not remember, Jane, how she tried to roast me alive in my bed? How she has since endeavoured to scorch your sheets in that same murderous fashion! How she tore the flesh from her own brothers bones! She was like it before the confinement, Jane. I have Richard Mason to attest to that. I shall have him swear an oath before you.'

'Sir – there is no need–'

'Jane, I'm convinced there is!' He crossed the path before me, huffing on each turn. 'On second thought, Jane, it will not do. Dick would agree, but he'd be long about it; you'd have scarpered before he left Jamaica. I am forming a better idea – you shall be convinced! Tell me, Jane, how soon until you are fit enough to bear a short journey?'

'How short, sir?'

'Some five-and-twenty miles.'

'Where to go, Mr Rochester?'

He stopped before me. 'Picture a beautiful setting, Jane; beneath a field of bright blue sky, wildflowers dance upon a warm meadow filled with their aromas, and the most delectable foods are spread before you – the finest picnic you ever saw. Our destination and enjoyment of it shall be the exact opposite of that – sadly. Oh but it were such a place!' he erelong subjoined, looking the other way and frowning. 'I should have no pangs, no supplementary regrets, no mental torments. I should be free from the constant reminders–'

'Sir?' I interrupted this obscure speech. 'You said o_ur_ destination?'

'It should be very strange to send you alone, Jane. Stranger still to go by myself when the point is for those hazel eyes to absorb some truth – but I see in this stream of sunlight that your eyes are not hazel, Jane? Indeed, they are green!'

'They have always been green, Mr Rochester.'

'And you have always been an elf! When did you change them, sorceress? – but where are you going, my –, that is, _Jane_? I am merely walking with you in the midmorning sun; absorbing its energy; there is no harm in it.'

'I am aware of that, sir. But I do so wish to speak to Mrs Fairfax. She looks so very grave and has not come to see me.'

'She's a simple old woman, Janet, with simple ideas of how the world works – or at least, should work. I daresay it is me who have caused the avoidance and the sullen glare – but you _are_ leaving me, Jane?'

'I'm off to speak with her now, Mr Rochester. I hope she is happy for me to join her for supper, as was our routine before.'

'Away with you then, sprite! And think about our mysterious journey meanwhile – and you must settle the day.'

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><p>...<p>

Thanks for reading!

P.S. If you do like my ideas and style, then you might like my novel, Halton Cray, which is available on Amazon for a bargain. Inspired by Jane Eyre, it is a contemporary paranormal romance set in a Tudor manor in southeast England.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Mysterious Journey

_**Thank you for all your comments on this story so far – it is great to know if this is going in a direction you like (or not!). I've fallen a little behind with posting as regularly as I wanted, owing mainly to having been away last week – it set writing this chapter back a few days. I hope you enjoy this next episode though! :)**_

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><p><span>Chapter 4 – The Mysterious Journey<span>

With Mrs Fairfax's parlour door open, she did not hear me enter. How very grave she looked with her head bent towards the Book, her eyes combing its gilt-edged pages at a leisurely pace. She soon took note of a draught that perhaps followed me into the room. Looking up she spied me, and her eyes widened before sinking to the floor. She removed her spectacles immediately, as if I was about to scold her, and placed them folded upon the open pages.

'Good morning, Mrs Fairfax.'

She tried to smile, and in this attempt, I saw that she was not angry with me. She was only apprehensive on some account. I therefore closed the door and asked 'If I might come in and sit with her?'

'Indeed, Miss Eyre – Oh!' she gasped, keeping her eyes low. 'I don't know what to say to you. I commend your spirit and resolve to protect yourself from the evils of men, but I feel I advised you too strongly to beware.'

'On the contrary, Mrs Fairfax, your advice was prudent and sound.'

'And yet if I had been more of a friend to you in the month approaching the bridal day, you might have come to me for advice or protection.'

'Dear Mrs Fairfax, you were a friend to me indeed! I was hasty in my decision to flee, but once it was done it could not be undone.'

'I will admit, Miss Eyre, though I saw Mr Rochester was very fond of you, I doubted that he loved you. But not because you are unlovable! – not a bit of it! But because of the difference in your ages, in your stations and finances. But never have I seen such emotion in my employer than when he discovered you were gone. His words! – good heavens – I never heard such language from he, or saw such tears in his eyes, even when his brother and father passed away, God rest their souls. He believed you were dead, Miss Eyre; lying under a stream, or in some ditch. And it sent a series of shivers down my spine, in the most part because I encouraged you to guard yourself so cautiously. Though I did not mean for you to fling yourself friendless on the wide world, my dear.' – It is necessary, reader, to recollect that Mrs Fairfax knew nothing of Mr Rochester's passionate threats the night before I fled.

I approached the widow quickly, took her mitted hands in mine and knelt before her.

'Mrs Fairfax, you must not reproach yourself in the slightest for either your warnings or any distancing between us. You meant well by your words and actions; and I am unharmed as you see. I wish only that we were friends.'

She smiled. 'Indeed, it is what I wish.'

'Then might I dine with you to-day?

'Certainly.'

After dinner, Mr Rochester summoned me to the library. He sat in there alone, in his usual chair before the fireplace, and I observed that he had placed a chair for me at a good distance from his.

'Jane,' said he, without turning, 'you always stand there for some minutes scrutinising the room when I am in it, as if I had some ill plan lain in wait. I drove you away by becoming the aggressor once; I shall not do it again. Upon my soul.'

Betaking then that seat before him – him who looked graver than Mrs Fairfax had – I settled my gaze upon his fine black eyes, which sought mine the moment I spoke.

'Mr Rochester, I do not think of you as a natural aggressor, and that is precisely _why_ I am on my guard. If I thought you were inherently capable of such aggression, I would not be in here alone with you, and I could not still–' I paused.

'Still what, Jane?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'I affirm that to me, at least, it does.'

'I could not still care for you as I do, sir, if I thought you were naturally able to– to _try violence_, as you put it.'

He lowered his eyes and became as still and silent as the furniture in the room. A sheen of pure shame coated those black discs in an instant.

'I see that desperation makes people say and do things out of character,' I subjoined. 'Unfortunately, sir, that does not mean you won't falter at the door of either temptation or desperation again. They are a recipe for destruction, and here stand those same ingredients, which is why I must soon leave you.'

He did not speak for a minute or two, but continued silently with eyes bent on the carpet.

'Jane,' he whispered at last. 'Jane – I shall never again beg you to be my mistress. There is as much shame in that as anything else I have said and done. How I should never have–' Again he fell silent. I saw how one more uttered syllable would drive tears from his eyes. It ate at my hearts core to watch him suffer thus. My hand, I beheld, crept slowly across my lap in his direction. I stayed it. To comfort him was not an option. To stay in this house: out of the question. To part with him forever: inevitable! though it should cleave my heart in two.

To prolong this suffering in both directions was cruel and unnecessary. I can do nothing other than bring about the mysterious journey to let him prove what he might, before departing forever.

'Sir, I feel able to take that journey with you, just as soon as you are disposed to go.'

His head rose and slowly turned my way; his eyes followed.

'Are you sure to go so soon, Jane? Will it not be too much for you?'

'I cannot say, sir, without knowing something of where we are going. As to the journey, it shall be nothing compared to some I have taken in my life.'

'Then the day after to-morrow, Jane?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I mean to prove to you that I am no philistine.'

'Yes, sir. Though it is not necessary to prove anything to me, I shall happily accompany you if it will put your mind at ease.'

'And it shall, Jane, it shall.'

I rose to take my leave.

'Will you not sit longer with me, Jane? You do not desert me already?'

'I'm afraid I must return to bed. I have been too long out of it today, and I feel sure to sleep a full four and twenty hours.'

He turned his posture a little in my direction as if perhaps to demonstrate, but then he said –

'I wish you a very goodnight, Jane.'

'Goodnight, sir,' said I, passing quietly behind his chair.

Just as I slipped out the door, I heard him add in a lowly whisper, 'Goodnight, my love.'

Tomorrow came and went with little in the way of interest or consequence to repeat – I saw nothing of Mr Rochester, and I believe he avoided me; for what purpose I might only hazard a guess. Perhaps it was an attempt to do without me for a whole day, as he had not yet managed since my return to Thornfield.

The following day began with a quick breakfast, which reminded me painfully of the bridal day. Mr Rochester, being that early riser, had eaten well before I descended the stairs. He waited for me now in the hallway where he paced back and forth like a caged lion, ordering the carriage brought round to the front and stocked with cushions and blankets to keep me comfortable throughout our journey. He stayed his foot when I appeared before him; then looked me over with a soft smile, pronounced me 'radiant as a daisy' before adding that 'it pleased him to see a spot of colour upon my cheek.'

'What a strange sensation I have been experiencing, Janet, while waiting for you this morning,' he continued, 'and now seeing you appear before me thus. Let us make haste so that we may conduct all our business under light of this fine clear day.'

Outside, Mr Rochester opened the carriage door and insisted on helping me within. His stern features fixed in the most puzzled expression as he leaned back by my side.

'I see those elfish green eyes examine me thoroughly, Jane. You have such an easy countenance at present. It reflects an easy disposition, I suppose?'

'I could hardly be uneasy, sir. I know not what to make of all this.'

'Yet you do not ask.'

'Not I, sir. Why ask and gain for myself that look that crosses your brow at present. I would rather sit here all ignorance for its blisses than blot the duration of a long journey with anxiety.'

Our carriage meanwhile was away, and we were presently passing the church where this troubled man at my side, whom I yet loved ardently, had, not a fortnight since, failed to make me his unknowing mistress. How I would not choose consciously to have those blisses over intelligence!

'On second thought, Mr Rochester, a burden shared is a problem halved – or at least, it feels better to talk about difficulties. Do tell me our destination now?'

He laughed. 'The moment you determined to know it, Jane, I determined that you should not. You are quite right not to worry needlessly till we arrive.'

I waited several minutes to see if he would relent and tell me something of where we headed. His face became more puzzling than before.

'I see by our direction we travel east, sir.'

He laughed. 'You intend to guess our destination, Jane?'

'I would sooner rely on signs.' I leant towards the window knowing we would approach an interchange at some point soon, and there should be a signpost.

'I am very glad, Jane,' said he after a short while, 'to hear your little voice returned; I have missed its tone, so tender and fairy-like.'

'Stern and inconsequential, you mean.'

'To these crumpled old ears, Janet, your soothing mystical voice feels as though finely spun silk caresses them.'

Mr Rochester's vigorous hand now actively sought mine as I yet watched out the window.

'Now, sir, you promised no touching!'

'We are not friends, Jane?' (taking my hand in both of his) 'Do not friends hold hands?'

My head shook instinctively while his muscular grip and gentle touch combined to fill my heart with weeping; I fought hard against a longing to hold both his hands in mine; to kiss them, his lips too!

'This cannot be, sir! We have been friends and we have talked of trust. I know we shall always be something akin, but now you are going against your word. If you wish me to halt this carriage and return on foot, I will do so at any point on this journey.'

He relaxed his fingers and released my hand. 'Forgive a moment of weakness, Jane! It is gone by.' He moved to the farthest corner of the carriage. 'It is gone by,' he repeated.

With my breath in my throat and my heart pounding hard in my chest, I turned away quickly. How to spend these hours with him in seclusion? None would know if we embraced, if we kissed, if only for the last time in our lives! My strength, my resolve, added to these thoughts in a clear strong voice: '_I_ will know.'

I continued looking out the window, to avoid his eyes, and there I saw a signpost a little way off. I read each destination to see which might apply. There were three named locations, reader. The last I inspected – the greatest distance, indeed – was a word that rang true in my mind. I sat back in the carriage where my expression formed something of a reflection to Mr Rochester's rigid features.

'You have figured it out, Jane, having seen the very word. Yet you puzzle on?'

'I saw the word Grimsby, and I recall you mentioning such a place called a retreat, from where you employed Grace Poole. Though Grimsby is a place above eighty miles off, sir. I shall not form a worse opinion of you just now, not before I learn whether you intend us to travel so far?'

'Indeed, Jane, we are not going all the way to Grimsby; there is no need. We are stopping at a town called Footham, which is merely en route. The place we visit is as you have gathered, called the Grimsby Retreat: a mad house.'

'Shall we be passing through its doors, sir?'

'Absolutely we shall! Take courage, Jane. We need not transpose every corridor or survey all its inmates, nor stay longer than you can endure its defects. I wish only to see you manoeuvre your head, either vertically or horizontally, and I shall – on your recommendation – deliver one Bertha Mason into its greasy paws directly, or I shall comprehend your disapproval of the place, and thus keep the fiend safe at Thornfield Hall as I have yet done.'

Mr Rochester produced his snuffbox and took a pinch 'for comfort'. I watched my master most keenly when his eyes fixed elsewhere. More so now, I wished to be his comforter. I bethought myself an expedient in the form of distraction; conversing unromantically might keep me from succumbing to my heart's innermost desire.

'Will you tell me something of the retreat, sir, so I might familiarise my mind with its existence? You do not wish to shock me, only enlighten me, I suppose?'

'To be sure,' he answered. 'What particulars interest you, Jane?'

'Firstly, how came you to know of the place? And your first visit?'

Mr Rochester proceeded to think for a minute. 'I recall an acquaintance of Mr Carter mentioning the place as one of the best to house the _non-compos mentis_.'

'I thought no one else knew of your marriage, sir, besides Grace Poole and Mr Carter?'

'Nor do they. It was not a personal recommendation, but came up during mere _tête-à-tête_. I was at that time in the throes of searching for such a place to accommodate her. I inquired by letter under the interests of a dear friend whose sister was mad and violent, and discovered that the superintendent was an acquaintance from my youth: a Mr Frederick Wilson, whom on my first visit personally showed me the grounds, the airing courts, the wards, and such. The nurses appeared strange, uncomfortable, out of place. The patients too went about most uneasily in their surroundings, which I initially thought was because of illness, but soon discovered it was not. It was because of instability – irregularity. It was staged, Jane, a mere rehearsal of wholesome routine. There was too something else in their physical appearance – which you shall see for yourself in but a few hours. After that first visit, I resolved to pay another before committing _my wife_ to its care. Only this time I decided it would be more useful to call upon them _tout à coup_. And what ugly truth came over my eyes when I visited unannounced! – Ah! Jane, we are now arriving at The Lion, and so I must abridge. Nay, there is not time. You shall learn more when we arrive at the retreat. Now is the time for rest and respite.'

The carriage pulled up out front The White Lion Inn, which Mr Rochester declared was almost halfway to Footham. After helping me out the carriage, he begged leave to guide me inside as would any gentleman. Since we were in public and he might not make more of it, I consented gladly. With my arm now linked to his own, we entered the Inn where he ordered a private room for tea.

Once upon the road again, now fed and restored, the carriage rolled over a smoother track, and my eyes were soon grown heavy. My master, I doubt not, was all too ready to receive me in his arms while I unwittingly slept long and sound. When I unclosed my eyes, I found his smile a welcoming one: I had been dreaming of my time on the lonely moor, awaiting Death himself! I heard the hooves of his Pale Horse coming upon my ears. – Such warmth now entered my heart upon waking safe in my master's arms. No sooner had I sat up than the carriage slowed. The town, a strange town to me, was bustling with people. We entered upon a wide road flanked with birch, and on one side ran a line of modern houses. While to the left was a great green, which appeared to be the frontal grounds to a large country home farther on. Very modern it was too, a house of three storeys with arched windows and four central columns; this looked as magnificent as Thornfield Hall the first time I laid eyes on it.

'What place is this, sir?' I asked on turning to find his grim smile shaping a hopeless expression.

'Lift your rose tints, my sweet Jane, and prepare yourself. Beyond the stately windows are curtains forged of iron.' He pointed to the grand estate. 'Do you see, Jane, how the other houses in the neighbourhood shun this one? Their very rooftops lean away from it. Even the smoke from their chimneys sweep across the sky in every other direction.'

The carriage halted and Mr Rochester stepped down onto the gravel, turning and holding out his hand for me. I took it gladly.

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><p>…<p>

Thanks for reading!

P.S. If you do like my ideas and style, then you might like my novel, Halton Cray, which is available on Amazon for a bargain. Inspired by Jane Eyre, it is a contemporary paranormal romance set in a Tudor manor in southeast England.


	5. Chapter 5 - Many a Demoniac Laugh

_**Thank you for all your reviews and follows! I hope you continue to enjoy with this next chapter.**_

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><p><span>Chapter 5 – Many a Demoniac Laugh<span>

None should imagine that I doubted Mr Rochester's word when he intimated that Grimsby Retreat was not what newspapers suggested. I had many times determined in these early years of my life, to take care at giving credence to reports of which I knew nothing. As to Mr Rochester, I believed that if he could have unloaded his burden remorselessly at such a place, he would have done so. Now arrived at its very doors, I determined to let him prove what he might before I mustered the will and strength to leave him again.

Upon first glance, I saw that the windows at ground level were either boarded over or bricked up. A noise from above – a dull thud to a windowpane – forced my eyes in that direction, where I beheld numerous pale faces peering down from several barred windows. Each set of eyes conveyed desperation in the form of unwitting confusion or cognisant sorrow, but all were distinctly curious at the arrival of visitors.

Mr Rochester was meanwhile chafing my hand in both of his. I turned my eyes on him, to see a look of concern deepening his brow.

'Jane, have you any salts – volatile salts about you?'

'No, sir,' I responded instinctively. – Of course I had not. How could I know such an item might be required? I should sooner have brought my drawing-box for such I knew might be wanted during the mysterious outing.

'Would I have remembered salts!' he muttered, stopping on the steps to that grand front door. 'Well, it cannot be helped now. You told me, Jane, of two fainting fits in your life; the last being occasioned on encountering that ghastly hag in your room.' (He shuddered.) 'Though you knew then nothing of her existence. I think you shall do well, and if not, we will not stay a moment longer than necessary.'

Mr Rochester advanced to knock on the front door. Above its frame read an inscription carved in the stone:

"I SHALL NOT DIE, BUT LIVE, AND DECLARE THE WORKS OF THE LORD." – Psalm 118:17

The door was unbolted and pulled ajar by a matronly figure dressed all in white.

'Good afternoon, sir,' was said in a terse voice. 'May I be of service?'

'I am here to see Mr Wilson; kindly notify him that Mr Rochester is arrived and wishes to see him directly.'

'Have you an appointment?'

'I do not require one. Now locate the man and bring him here. Go!'

The matron – with a hard face and large underjaw – appeared incapable of shrinking back to any command. Yet she did, squinting her eyes as she opened up the door fully.

'I suppose you had better come in then,' she announced firmly, now moving away and across the small clinical-looking vestibule. Betaking herself round a large desk and towards the far wall, she sharply tugged thrice on a bell pull. A door in the far corner behind her desk unclosed, and a young man appeared there. The matron approached him and whispered something in his ear – which would have been to the effect of 'Fetch Mr Wilson promptly; a Mr Rochester is here declaring he does not need an appointment to see him!'

What awful renditions visited my ears meanwhile of many a demoniac laugh! They came distantly through the small grill high in a stark white door, wide and heavy, fastened in the wall closer to where we stood. Over it read a sign of NO ADMITTANCE. Beyond came a far-off low and suppressed goblin-laughter in the intervals of crying, growling and scratching. I trembled at my master's side to hear the familiar trait replayed so oft. He took my arm under his and vowed to keep me close by him. I was about to tell Mr Rochester that there really was no need to venture farther – I was forming the conclusion that no living soul should be installed at such a place. Too soon, another man (Mr Wilson I presumed) came through that door behind the desk. He equalled Mr Rochester in stature and was dressed as finely too. His wary eyes met my master's immediately, followed by a delayed smile. He approached calmly and outstretched his hand, as is the custom. While he is busy in greetings, reader, I shall take a moment to sketch his features: on closer inspection they were not what they appeared from afar: beneath a mass of silvery hair swept over his head, half covering his brow, framed that of an elongated face with puffy lips, a long and craggy nose, and small reddened eyes. His skin was tinted grey and an unwholesome skin it was; it seemed to me to have a greasiness to it. Mr Rochester had mentioned knowing this man in his youth, but I knew not in what capacity; nor could I guess; he looked fifteen years older than my master.

'I am glad you are come back, Rochester,' was what passed his colourless lips meanwhile. 'I did not expect to see you here again after–' He paused and looked to me. 'But we are all subject to human emotion on occasion, are we not? Such outbursts need not be repeated.'

Mr Rochester said little in this time, but stared at the man with a tightened jaw. After a strained moment, he uttered, 'How do you do, Wilson?'

'Good as can be,' was the reply. 'And should I gather from this unexpected visit that this is the young lady whom you spoke of? – the sister of your friend who you were looking to house?'

'No, by God!' My master's hand convulsed and gripped my arm tighter. 'This is my wife: Mrs Rochester.'

Instinct turned my eyes severely on he who made this assertion. I fought hard to silence the rebuffing voice of conscience as it directed me to speak up and affirm I was _not_ his wife! Though another voice – a gentler, and much devoted identity – turned traitor against the former, because I did not wish Mr Wilson to think _my_ master a liar. Therefore, I was glad he paid no heed to my reaction, but busied himself in congratulating my supposed husband instead.

'I had no idea you were going to be married,' said the grey figure, turning his sore eyes again on me. 'My hearty congratulations, Mrs Rochester. A true and honest husband you have at your side; I have known him from a tender age and can vow to his excellent nature, and–'

'Yes, yes,' Mr Rochester interjected, waving on the man's talk. 'Don't trouble yourself to give me a character – I mean you no personal harm. My wife here knows all she must of my temperament: she married me.'

'Does she know, too, of mine?' asked the strange man tensely.

'No. Though you have nothing more to fear from her than you have from me by opening that door. My wife's interest is not in you, but in the inmates and what she can do for them on a personal level.'

Here Mr Wilson nodded while taking up a great hoop of heavy keys. 'Matron! – follow.'

The superintendent unlocked that door and guided us over its threshold. I soon discovered that no smelling salts would be necessary; no fainting fit could overpower those invasive odours pervading the air! Mr Rochester took off his handkerchief and urged me to cover my nose. From where could such smells arise? Though I heard voices, I saw none; the walls were bear as bone. – a new sound struck my ear; a clunky heel turning the corner up ahead, tolling against the dull floor. An attendant appeared at once and passing us looked to none other than Mr Wilson, bowing her gaunt face to only he, and turning down another corridor disappeared like a wraith.

'I suppose you'll want the full tour?' asked Mr Wilson.

'By which you mean to charge?' inquired Mr Rochester. 'I'll do nothing against the law.' He cast me a sidelong glance and muttered, 'Unless the reward is invaluable.'

I refused to acknowledge this reference to his attempted bigamy and promptly looked away.

'Charge?' Laughed the greasy superintendent. 'Good heavens, no! Donations and assistances are always welcome. Though it is true that tours go against the law, so I cannot advertise openly. People of quality – like your good self – are the very best visitors.'

'If I knew the money would garb an inmate for the winter, or supply them a breakfast, Wilson, I should gift a good sum. As it is, I am not in the habit of funding your flask or table debts.'

Mr Wilson raised his silvery eyebrows as he walked us to the end of that hollow corridor. The insult certainly penetrated his ear, but exited the other as quick as forgotten. We turned into a wider passage and came to another large heavy door. Mr Wilson went forward to unlock it where deep moans and murmurs retreated from the sound of his clanging keys.

'Now prepare yourself, my Jane, for what lies in yonder room; keep your hand in mine.'

Mr Wilson grated the key in the lock and threw open the door.

Kindly reader, may you never experience such a dreadful place! It pains me to reflect – and yet I must. Behind that door drifted Want – frail and bare – into every crevice of a large communal room where she had firmly lodged her worth. Scarce was furniture fit for purpose; I counted two tables – both broken and upended – with few chairs at hand. The remnants of a card game lay destroyed upon the floor. What a place in which to spend a lifetime! Numerous figures of the pit sank there, for the Devil himself must surely reside with these poor lost souls having claimed, starved, and chained them to the bowels of Hell.

Rooms – or rather cells – ran off this large one, and the inmates in rags stood freely about them: women and girls of all ages; the youngest I saw perhaps only twelve. Some watched spots of mould growing on the walls within, while others counted the filthy tiles beneath their naked feet. Those cells that contained no bedframe or bare mattress housed a pile of straw for sleeping on – nothing else. I witnessed two attendants on their patrols, each nodding to his and her superiors as we passed them. Mr Wilson and the matron went forth to whisper something to these people – their artful eyes giving away only the topic of their discussion: namely us.

The boarded lower windows kept the cells for the most part in darkness, though light bled into the main room from grimy windows at the far end, from what appeared its central courtyard – I saw no one outside but the circling carrion. There I beheld in that light something else about those emaciated bodies, in which a spasm caught my breath.

'Oh! Mr Rochester! Those poor women! – You gave me your arm before, sir, may I have it now for support?'

'Here are both my arms, Jane! – Lean on me.'

'Do tell me at once why those women have no hair?'

'I shall, Jane. – but first, hear Mr Wilson's reasons.' My master put his lips to my ear and whispered: 'He will say it is to keep lice at bay. He is returning now, Jane – ask him.'

I did, and the superintendent promptly echoed Mr Rochester's words concerning lice.

'Is there no preventative for lice in this day and age, sir?'

'None so effective as a straight razor, Mrs Rochester.'

'Then why do you not cut all the women's hair?' I persisted. 'Surely, you cannot eradicate the problem if it prevails with other patients.'

Mr Wilson seemed at a loss to prepare an answer quickly. I remained silent to hear something nevertheless.

'We have no permission from their relatives,' he claimed erelong. 'But it is in their best interest, I assure you.'

I could never believe it, not while I looked upon so many haggard frames slumped upon their straw beds, or lain next to one another body-to-body. Some cried alone in corners, while others talked cheerfully to themselves. – The matron meanwhile went forward to prevent an elderly woman coming upon us with clamped fists; advancing from her open cell. Mr Rochester flung me behind him, while Mr Wilson called for another attendant. One soon arrived: a rather large man with flabby cheeks. Together he and the matron restrained the small woman with brute force as she howled like a dog caught in a snare. They pulled her into the cell and threatened to chain her – by which they pointed to a set of manacles attached to the wall. This seemed to pacify her, but after half a minute of deliberating outside her cell with Mr Wilson, they went forth to chain her anyway as a punishment.

'Please, sir!' I could not repel a demonstration.

'She's an animal, Mrs Rochester!' snapped the superintendent, 'what will bite you as one!'

'Wilson!' Mr Rochester intervened. 'She began to behave, therefore let her be for God's sake, man. She will soon comprehend that we mean her no harm. Does she behave like a human when you treat her as one?'

'Be it upon your own necks,' was Mr Wilson's answer as he permitted the removal of the manacles. The lady sat still, coherent enough to prove a point, I thought. I drew off my shawl and handed it to her since she was insufficiently dressed to withstand the chill of the place. She looked at the item long and then took it from my hands with a constant heavy nodding of the head.

We turned about and walked back where unbroken screams and the gabble of demons took possession of the atmosphere. Not only was the place filled with noise, but with stench too; and if not only with noise and stench, then ghastly sights of putrid squalor. Without consideration I stooped to look into the glassy eyes of a young woman – younger than I – her body pale and hard as marble, fixed to the floor like a sarcophagus. She seemed already over the edge of despair, her hopes smashed on the rocks below.

I rose and turned to Mr Rochester, and promptly buried my wet face in his chest.

'I am sorry to distress you, my little friend,' said he, now whispering again in my ear, 'but I would have you learn the truth. Do you see how she is better where she is?'

'I do see that now, sir.'

'Then we are in agreement, Jane. – Wilson. We will turn back now.'

I hesitated to look upon those forsaken creatures, tracing each one of their faces to better remember them all in my prayers.

'You cannot change the world all by yourself in one moment, Jane.'

Mr Rochester steered me back into the corridor, and out into the vestibule where I heard Mr Wilson grating that key again in the lock. My mind in the interim revolved on the hopelessness of those left behind it. During which time, Mr Rochester uttered something to the matron at the desk, for that moment unintelligible to me. Once inside our carriage, I began to recover myself.

'We shall just wait here a moment, Jane. Tell me how do you feel?'

'Oh, Mr Rochester!' I exclaimed, letting some tears fall from my eyes without sobbing. 'It reminded me of Mr Brocklehurst's treatment. He said he did it to teach us humility, though I know he was wicked to the core – for starving us was the wickedest of things! And to have our hair shorn from our heads – but what reason could they possibly have to strip those human beings of their hair? What humility do they suppose a mad person to know?'

'Humility? – no, Jane. I'm afraid it is not done to teach them anything. Nor is it to punish or incite. Wilson is a devious and grasping fellow when it comes to money, especially now he has fallen on harder times.'

'But what money can be got out of women's hair?' – I realised the answer as I asked the question. – 'Wigs?'

'You have guessed it. Wilson sells it by colour-coordinated sacks: dark, red and yellow hair. – Jane! Jane?'

I did not faint, but felt close to doing so. My master held me, and I heard some words uttered. '– hear me, Jane?'

'God help them, sir!'

'I am in the motions of doing so, Jane. I shall explain it to you when we are away from this place! It has grown worse; the walls are papered thick with mould, and the air is a pestilence as that found in some low wood. I should never have brought my little ewe lamb so near a contagion.'

My master here offered to fetch me water or wine. I declined and wished only to leave the retreat.

'Good day to you, sir,' said a bright young voice outside the carriage. 'You sent for me, Mr Rochester, sir?'

'I did.'

The man, barely in his twenties, was very plain in the face, extremely slim, yet tall, with a slight hunch to his left shoulder.

Mr Rochester took something out of his breast pocket and handed it to the man.

'Your mother charged me to deliver this to you.'

'I am much obliged to your kindness, Mr Rochester; thank you, sir. How is my mother?'

'Tolerable, as ever. I expect the letter to convey as much in more detail. – Now, I am in mortal peril of causing this young lady an illness if I were to wait for you to reply to her correspondence–'

'No, indeed, Mr Rochester!' I protested, seeing a saddened look shaping the man's face which was much like his mother's – I saw Grace Poole in every rough feature. 'Mr Rochester, I will gladly wait while this young man drafts his response.'

'If you would be so kind,' said Grace's son, 'I have ready a letter writ for my mother. If you would be so good as to carry it to her, it will save me the fee. I can fetch it now?'

'Then run!' said Mr Rochester, 'and back fast as a flash of lightning!'

The man did, though not quite so fast as that – more like that of an excited dog.

'Raymond Poole,' said Mr Rochester. 'Grace's only surviving child.'

He returned swiftly and handed the crumpled note into my master's hand, which he transferred to his pocket.

At that moment Mr Wilson emerged and standing next to Raymond Poole he said –

'Farewell, Rochester, and Mrs Rochester! Journey well,' etc.

Our carriage being then away, I turned to he who had brought me on such an excursion as this.

'That young man will know – by his mother's hand – the true state of things concerning your wife, and he will tell Mr Wilson I am not she. So you see there was no need to tell such a lie as you did.'

'Raymond Poole does not know,' was all he said. He expected me to ask for evidence, but I remained mute (due mostly to annoyance). 'He does not know, Jane, because I took the liberty of learning a great secret about Grace before employing her, lest she should take to blackmailing me or letting slip her tongue. We are therefore in each other's confidence and may do either good or equal harm.'

He again waited for a response, and then searched for one. I leaned back and looked out the window.

'Jane?'

Silence.

'Jane?' he said again in a deeper tone. 'Such a look could set the sun early. Ah – I see she is fast approaching the horizon. Will you not speak to me for the entire journey home?'

'No, sir.'

'What does it signify, Jane! that a perfect stranger thinks of you as my wife? _I_ think of you as my wife! each and every day. He would have suspected worse, Jane, if I had said this young girl of eighteen on my arm, as you were – as you should be! – was merely a friend. He knows I have no sisters. I hoped you would at least prefer the dream of our marriage.'

'I could never prefer a lie, sir.'

'No?'

'No.'

He struggled to gain my eye, so moved across to those seats facing, and sat before me, his strong brilliant figure imposing but not intimidating. I could not help but meet his stare.

'Sir, I do not intend to argue with you for the entire journey, exasperated as I am. So if you wish to speak to me, then I would welcome it in the form of explanation. What did you mean when you said you were in the motions of helping those unfortunate women in that horrific institution? What can be done?'

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><p>…<p>

Thanks for reading!

P.S. If you do like my ideas and style, then you might like my novel, Halton Cray, which is available on Amazon for a bargain. Inspired by Jane Eyre, it is a contemporary paranormal romance set in a Tudor manor in southeast England.


	6. Chapter 6 - Back to Thornfield

**Thanks for all your reviews! It is so encouraging and I am so glad you have liked it so far. I hope you will let me know what you think of this next chapter! :)  
><strong>

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><p><span>Chapter 6 – Back to Thornfield<span>

Mr Rochester proceeded to explain how well connected Frederick Wilson was in society; how his attempts thus far to expose the true conditions at Grimsby Retreat had been met with doubt and suspicion, even from amongst Mr Rochester's own circle.

'Wilson's family, Jane, are extremely influential, and well aware of his drinking and gambling habit. If his constant playing at the table were to result in some winnings on occasion, they would have no scruples whatever. Certainly not _old_ Mr Wilson; I never met a man's father who loved money more than my own. No; his family will never support him financially; he would ruin them all in no extensive period. They wish only to protect their good name by keeping his out of the newspapers, and off wagging tongues, and that is why my gentle attempts to raise awareness have gone unmet. No one wants to do with it, only to chance suffering financial loses because their investments are tied up with that family. My own estate is quite safe. – Just a moment, Jane. – John? (calling out from the carriage window) – John? Pull over quickly to light the headlamps; the sky darkens fast.'

'Right you are, sir,' returned John, slowing the carriage. He got down; lit his lamps, came to the door, lit our lantern, before returning to his seat and driving on.

I turned to Mr Rochester now, whose eyes sparkled powerfully in the lamplight.

'Sir, do Mr Wilson's family never see him? Never advise him, or inquire into his health or state of affairs?'

'How sweet you are, Janet, to have seen the Devil himself and inquire with all the _naiveté_ of a child if he has feelings. No, my wee fairy, their interest is fixed at keeping the path before him well swept, so that he may do as he pleases unmolested until his death – even if that should be thirty years off. The living, Jane, is quite substantial; I would have paid a good annual sum to have _The Bride of Lammermoor_ housed there. Wilson's rates are not cheap, and from a business perspective, he invests nothing into keeping that money flowing. I do so suspect that some inmates may continue to live only on paper, and not so in the flesh any longer.'

'Oh, good God, sir! Is there no way to inform the patients' families of the true state of things?'

He took a moment before answering. 'It is a pity to say it, Jane, but there is no guarantee that any would care enough to accept it. Besides, accessing those records would be extremely difficult. I might manage it with the aid of Raymond Poole, but I am yet to be convinced he is capable of serving two masters.'

'Is there no reasoning with Mr Wilson, sir?'

'None whatsoever, Jane. He does not listen because he does not care; he gives meaning to the word obstinate! I tried once, Jane; but I would sooner have got Charles the First to bend his knee to parliament than succeed in turning Frederick Wilson's ways on their head.'

Mr Rochester looked out the window to suppose what headway we made. I may well take a moment to inform the noble reader of the sincerest energy with which my master spoke in the defence of those poor souls at Grimsby. I shall too add that I could not calm his temper while he went over all the details of his failures thus far in bringing the superintendent down. I was therefore glad when he mentioned we would shortly be alighting once more at The White Lion Inn. There I determined to detract from that subject for a while. The sun being now set, I felt it a surprisingly warm evening, with the air close, and thick grey clouds gathered low in the sky.

'Let us not sojourn long, Jane; I believe there is a storm afoot. – Indeed, I feel a bead, and another, falling on my head. Come, Jane, out of the carriage and inside quickly. Give me your hand. – what warm slight fingers, Jane!' and he squeezed them most tenderly before hurrying me inside, requesting again a private room.

'In here, Jane. Will you have this seat nearer the fire?'

'Thank you, sir, but it is rather warm enough on this side of the room.'

'You are not feverish, I hope?'

'No, sir.'

'Your colour, Jane, is yet pale, but we have not been long out of Hell. Was that a tremble, Jane, with which I saw you move?'

'I am quite well, sir. A spasm caught me in the remembrance of that place, nothing more.'

'I shall keep a closer eye on you to-night.'

'Really, Mr Rochester, there is no need.'

'Seat yourself here, Jane.'

When supper was brought in – the very best dishes, of course, made up in the main of roast venison, game pie, boiled potatoes, and puddings – I found I could eat but very little. The thought of those women at the asylum starving and wretched came between my appetite and me. Mr Rochester watched closely, taking stock of every morsel I conveyed beyond my lips.

Before long, we were again on the road. It was now Mr Rochester's turn to nap in the carriage for the remainder of the journey. Though the country road roughened considerably as we gained on Thornfield, my master slept sound as if he were adrift in a small boat on a great placid lake. I had a pleasure in watching him in so peaceful a slumber, though I determined to look out at the rain descending hard and fast. A lightning flash and clap of thunder roused Mr Rochester just as we passed the little church and the gates to Thornfield Hall. Those fine black eyes fell upon me with realisation, melancholia and desperation fused into one powerful expression: we must soon part ways.

'You have no shawl, Jane. Here – put on my cloak. Allow me, Jane! – and when we stop, hurry inside out of the wet.'

'Thank you, sir,' I whispered.

The carriage pulled up and Mr Rochester stepped down, holding out his arms to help me alight. I hurried to get inside, whereby divesting myself of his cloak, wished him a goodnight and hastened to the stairs. I got but three of them underfoot before –

'Jane? Jane, do you go straight to bed?'

'I must, sir. The journey alone has quite done for me.'

Mr Rochester's eyes reflected that knowledge of looming departure; he was experiencing an ordeal. He read my mind, which he would interpret to say, 'I have seen what you desired me to see and I shall now set about leaving you. No words that pass your lips can prevent it.'

'Shall I see you tomorrow, Jane?' asked he, contriving a smile.

'You shall, sir. Goodnight, Mr Rochester.'

'Jane?'

'Yes, sir?'

He fidgeted with his cloak, looked one way, then another, and sighed. 'Goodnight, Jane.' He promptly turned away.

I hastened up the stairs, got into my room, bolted my door and sat on the bed motionless for a long while. I rose; I paced, and thought and fretted. 'What to do now? I must leave him! I cannot think of sleep without having done something towards that mighty task calling for my attention. Would I wish to face these feelings afresh, the unmade decisions, again to-morrow with the same unease? How to proceed? I cannot leave him!' – I heard an inward voice: 'Take a piece of paper and ink, and compose of a new life: advertise!'

Obeying this voice, I went to my writing-box where I set out my desk with ink. I had no paper, having used the last piece to write to my uncle in Madeira. I shall write to him again – but not tonight!

Unbolting my door, I slipped into the hallway with a candle in hand and stood to hear nothing but a wild wind whistling through the gallery. I supposed – indeed, I hoped! – the sound of rain tapping at the nearby casement, and constant moans of the wind, might mask any noise I made. Only hushed noise, perhaps that of sleep, stole to meet my ear from Mr Rochester's chamber. I got by with ease and descended the stairs towards the drawing room, for the door was open to darkness within. Beyond the cold grate, I betook myself into the library where I knew to find writing-paper for all and sundry. With the curtain drawn back, the storm raged in the gardens, the windowpanes streaked with rain, and the light of my candle shone back at me in the glass. A sudden noise from the drawing room had me turn on my heel; I heard someone crossing that room hastily. A light grew before me and now the figure held out its candle, and I feared it was she! It fast approached. I froze solid. – It was Mr Rochester.

'Jane! What in God's name–? I thought we had burglars! or feared the fiend was lose!' He set down his candle and approached me in his breeches and half-open shirt, taking a firm hold of my arms. How the soft upward flow of light lit those grim features well! His great jetty eyebrows threw the rest of his heavy brow into shadow. 'What a strange look forms your pale little face just now, Jane! Are you sickening? Did you see a ghost? But what is this? – paper! Whom do you write to at this late hour?'

'Sir, I–'

'Do you advertise, Jane?'

'I could not sleep, sir. And finding that I had no writing-paper, yet wishing to relieve my mind of some thoughts, I came downstairs to acquire some.' – I might have said I wrote to my uncle, but I could not so boldly lie to his face.

'Some _thoughts_, Jane? Would those thoughts be regarding a new situation? I ask again – do you advertise?'

'I do, sir.' I stood firm. 'I must begin to find another situation. – Sir, I beg you not to fall into a passion; we will not part this night!' I added intently, seeing his great chest pound with excitement.

'Oh, Jane! Never fear me – I am not angry. You must not fret! Come, come, Jane, follow me now, and sit down. I ask a few minutes that you would hear me. – Please?' He held out his hand as an invitation and somewhat a command to take precedence in his own chair. I obeyed, though I did not like to sit in his seat. Once before I had sat here and now I feared a similar rant and threat would repeat itself.

He took the candle from my hand and lit those atop the mantel, so that the room glowed bright.

'Will you have a glass of wine, Jane?' asked he, already pouring two glasses before I ventured an answer. He handed one to me and I thanked him, though I determined not to sip one drop at the fountain of influence.

'I was dreaming of you, Janet, as I slept in the carriage.' He paused, emptied his glass in one swift movement, wiped his lips, and then refilled his glass to the top. 'You were my wife in that dream, Jane, my true and legal wife. Do not ask me how; those details were not available and I believe I did not care to know. We were happy, Jane, and it was all that mattered. I woke to find you flinching to the thunderclap as Thornfield drew us back into her jaws. – You do not taste the wine, Jane.' He again finished his and poured yet another. A bolt of lightning struck in a field beyond the gardens; I saw its jagged line distinctly through the window, and Mr Rochester turned to look as it flooded the room with blue light.

'I am not thirsty at present, sir, and I would so prefer it if you were not–'

He turned with eyebrows risen; I regretted the suggestion, for now he began to pish, then pshaw aloud. 'Am I a drunkard in your eyes, who cannot be trusted? Do you dread this brute, this degenerate, Jane, moving in your direction with anything but sober diffidence? Do you think _I_ am an automaton? That because I am a man, I do not, or need not, feel? That I am only capable of physical love? Am I not permitted to express any feeling that eats eagerly at my hearts core? – If I am entitled to have a heart?'

These words cut me because I knew how far I had pushed him; this passionate man who needed to feel love, who begged to feel _my_ love. I knew how – to him at least – I had become the ice and rock he most dreaded. He thought me capable of withholding all feeling when my mind determined it was right. It could not be further from the truth! And now I could not help but prove it out of love, and pity, and remorse!

'Edward,' I said, unaware in that moment how low I breathed his name. 'Edward, you know I love you, most ardently.'

'Prove it!' He threw himself on his knees before me and resting his arms against me, he grasped my hands. 'Prove to me, Jane, that I have not lost your love in here' – (pressing his fingers to the centre of my chest, above my heart) – 'where it matters most. I do not ask anything of you, Jane, other than some small acknowledgement that my pale little friend – that if she will not stay with me, she will at least not shrink from my person. I feel as though you flinch when I am near, as if in repulsion!'

'That I never could!' I leant forward and pushed aside his hair, before planting a lingering kiss on his brow. 'Oh, sir, please now let me go up to bed.'

'One moment more, Jane! Do you still write your letter to-night?'

'It is likely, sir.'

He scoffed and rose up. 'With what audacity you utter that word "it is likely" Jane!' – He was on the verge of something, and he began to pace; I feared the lion rising; his pant already on the air. 'Sincerely, Jane, I am passion personified at this moment; my blood boils.'

'Sir–' I squeezed the arms of the chair.

'I can buy no more time, Jane. I am becoming quite desperate, and if this!' (looking to the moulded ceiling wild-eyed) 'if this is a test, I do so fear I may fail!'

'You gave me your word, sir! You gave it to God, and He rewarded you.'

'Just so! To do what, Jane, other than test me? I cannot so readily believe He put you before me again if only to say goodbye! Because now you set about to leave me forever? – yes?'

'You know what my answer is, sir. Must I repeat it to throw more fuel upon the flame?'

'The truth, as you said, was the best in which to go by?'

'It is, sir.'

'I want you, Jane–' (again kneeling before me) 'I need you!'

'Please do not embrace me, sir, it is scarcely fair.'

'Stay with me, Jane.' (placing his head in my lap.)

'I cannot.' I fought tears though they fell anyway, just as the rain ran faster down the sheets of glass. The house wept with me, and now too did my master.

'Is there no way in which you will stay with me, Jane?'

'You know it is impossible.'

His head rose with his pulse and it visibly throbbed behind his moist eyes.

'For one moment, Jane, forget impossible! I merely said I would speak truth! You've asked for my honesty, yes? You want frankness, clarity, yes? Well – it is this: I do not wish you to find another situation that involves removing you from my life. I will happily become a Tibetan monk if you will stay, but stay you must! Don't shake your head yet, Jane; hear me! I shall withdraw plans to send Adele to school, and instead house just her and yourself a few miles off where you can continue as her governess, permitting me to visit you as often, or – I say with reluctance – as seldom as you wish.'

'But, sir–'

'I _cannot_ live without you near me, Jane, in some capacity. What I would not do to ensure talking to you and seeing your little face habitually! Even if that little face reminded me often, with nothing more than one stern look, I should not attempt caresses in any form. But see it often, I must! To know where it sleeps and that it is safe – I must!'

'Oh, sir!'

'Do not answer me just now, Jane. We are simply speaking of options.'

'It is a tempting offer, sir, but–'

'You need not pass your word, Jane; only say you will consider.'

'Mr Rochester, I believe that life might be too solitary even for me. I love Adele and wish to have her near me, but without any other society, I shall relish your company when you come. But meanwhile, in the intervals of teaching and distraction, I shall pine too much for you, and I believe that by stealth your original scheme might come close to fruition. – You may smile, sir, to know that you might someday fulfil that plan! but I am determined to be open with you in order to prevent it.'

'I smile because you say you will _pine for me_, Jane. It is music to my ears! I could not relish in the idea that I might someday conquer you; corrupt you; condemn you to a life you pity and hate.'

He pulled a chair near to me, sat down, leant back and thought.

'Perhaps then I shall I go abroad, and you may remain here–'

'No, sir!' I rose to demonstrate. 'I would not like that.'

'Ah! because of the resident malady upstairs?'

'Indeed, sir, but I was protesting chiefly at your going abroad.'

The idea of him in foreign climates, having failed to make me his mistress, projected images into my head of exotic women who might not resist. By what better judge of the future is one than that of the past? I knew nothing much of men's habits, but I knew of Mr Rochester's. And he knew what places to find solace and such _an assortment of black eyes_, as he put it. I could not expect him to 'keep to me' as he'd once sworn, because I was not going to give myself to him.

'Then I shall think carefully on what I can do, Jane, – for us both,' he said erelong. 'But, Jane, you are open to ideas?'

'To ideas, sir, I am.' – (I hardly knew what I was saying! Hope captured me fast!) – 'And on the condition I shall not remain in this house, sir, I give you my word that I will consider staying in your life in the capacity of friend. Now, I really must go up to bed.'

'And I shall meanwhile press on with honest schemes to keep you near me, Janet. I have one grasping at the back of my brain at this moment; but it is so foetal, so yet unformed, I shall not deliver it prematurely into your arms until it is nourished enough to survive.'

'Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir.'

'Goodnight, Jane.'

Reader, I almost touched his head as I passed him seated. My hand flew out towards him, but I withdrew it quickly. It was fortunate he did not see or he might have sprung to his feet.

Once within my chamber, having bolted my door, I fell upon my couch and sobbed heartily. Because I could not long endure living with him I love; never to touch, never to say again those words.

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><p>…<p>

Thanks for reading!

P.S. If you do like my ideas and style, then you might like my novel, Halton Cray, which is available on Amazon for a bargain. Inspired by Jane Eyre, it is a contemporary paranormal romance set in a Tudor manor in southeast England.

P.S.S. I also wanted to say thank you to those of you who bought Halton Cray; I really appreciate your support and your very kind messages! It is now available as a paperback as well as an ebook on amazon.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Master Plan

_**Here we go! Did any of you guess that this is what would happen? I hope you are not disappointed! Please review and let me know :)**_

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><p><span>Chapter 7 – The Master Plan<span>

I could not think of composing an advertisement once returned to my chamber. I had as good as given my word to wait and consider an offer of Mr Rochester's, when he thought to make one! And why should I not consider one? Had my flight from Thornfield not failed? Did not God answer Mr Rochester and direct him through the darkness to where I lay upon the moor? Did He intend for me another destination? Perhaps. Without hearing Mr Rochester's proposal, I could not hitherto determine an answer. Was there something else God wished me to do?

These whisperings in the back of my mind replayed for as long as it took to remove my shoes and frock. For no sooner had I retaken my couch than a deep slumber fetched me away. There are, after all, fewer natural sleeping potions so potent as fatigue, of which I had taken a rather large dose.

It was perhaps an hour before dawn when I roused, for what appeared to be no reason at all. Not a sound had I heard on the gallery. My heart therefore leapt up when, after some moments, I heard a creak outside my door. Glad was I to have bolted it fast, and more so surprised to hear it undergo some light rapping.

'Jane? – Jane?' came my master's voice in an agitated whisper, to which my heart pounded double.

'Am I wanted?' I spoke out, half rising.

'I want you,' replied he through the door, adding, 'are you up and dressed? Only make haste!'

'Yes, sir,' I returned, now risen and hurrying on my frock over my nightdress; for I had no longer a shawl, nor did I possess a dressing-gown. I pulled back the curtain to allow the moonlight in since I had not kept my candle burning. Then I crossed the room and withdrew the bolt to open my door. Mr Rochester charged in full of energy (and decidedly too much wine), passing me with a flame dancing on the wick, before closing the door behind me.

'Forgive me, Jane, disturbing your rest. I have not seen sleep to-night; I am beyond excitement to impart to you my scheme. And I cannot get on with planning every detail, which I would continue to do, further building up my enthusiasm! only to find you do not approve it. The greater the height, the more it will hurt when I fall.'

Mr Rochester spoke rapidly, during which he betook himself to my bedside, found a candle, lit it, and returned to me.

'Jane, do you wish me to finish helping you dress? That is, if you would be more comfortable, I can fasten the back–'

'Thank you, sir, but I shall do. Though I seem to have mislaid my slippers.'

'Then retake your couch, would you? It will not do to have you catch your death on this chill floor! – No,' he went on, more to himself, 'no, I think you shall approve it.'

'Approve what, sir?'

'Come, Jane.' He led me to the bed, and pulling back the coverlet ordered me into it. He raced then over to the fireplace, carrying back with him a chair.

'Now, Jane,' said he, sitting down and slapping his hands eagerly to his manly thighs – a great smile filling his jaws. 'What would you think to opening your own little school in Hay?'

'I beg your pardon, sir; a school? – in Hay? But does not Millcote have a school already?'

'Not a charity school for girls!'

'You wish to found a charity school?'

'What a smile! Indeed, Janet, I intend to found a little charity school in Hay. Millcote has a school of industry for boys, but nothing for girls. Where to tutor the farmers' daughters! who can neither afford education nor trek so far on cold and dark wintry mornings. Oh, would you look at that! She thinks so well of me for suggesting we teach the bairns to read. But that rarely bestowed esteem shall be annihilated in a heartbeat the moment she realises that I do this to keep her nearby! I do, Jane, in order to play something of a husband to you. – there is no need to frown, or blush, my little –. I accept that you will never allow me to be your husband fully, while the law prevents it. But if I can make you happy in these ways, then I am closer to contentment to do as you wish.'

'Sir–'

'Now, Jane, none of that – no protests. I shall speak to Mr Wood to-morrow; as clergyman of my parish, he is the logical choice for the school's director. You shall converse with Wood on all matter's business unless, by and by, something arises in which you feel it necessary to involve his patron, the school's treasurer, namely myself. You shall be school-mistress, Jane, and arrange all your lessons. The building I have in mind is a decent sized cottage; its large and light front room will suffice for the schoolroom. There is a living room and kitchen adjacent toward the rear. Above is one bedchamber. With your approval of this plan, and acceptance to run this village-school, I shall naturally increase your salary.'

'No, sir, my salary is ample. Founding a school cannot be a cheap business?'

He waved his hand as if to remove a cobweb of negativity from his view. 'I cannot see it being so very costly. But never mind the finance. Do you like this plan, Jane?'

'I do indeed, sir.' – I could not help nor hide my enthusiasm at the thought of it: for not having to leave Thornfield for a new set of strange people and surroundings. For not parting with my master completely, yet having my own life outside of this house. – 'It has always been a rather bold dream of mine to run a little school.'

'So I recall, Janet, you once told me as much while I was _in principio incognito_ just to learn your secrets!' Mr Rochester leant back in the chair and laughed. 'Do you remember when I played the gypsy to industriously gather clues? Yet before I read your face you had confessed to me your wee dreams? – but why do you look at me now in that manner? With what thoughts do you smirk at my performance?'

'On the contrary, sir; though your performance was enigmatical for even a gypsy, it was your appearance I smirked after just now: you were the most hideous Mother Bunches I ever saw! What ever possessed you to acquire such a peculiar disguise? To be sure, I never supposed it was you beneath the hat and white band, only on account of your rather large hands – in my mind at least – could never fit into a pair of lady's lace gloves.' – Mr Rochester's hands were great vigorous extremities.

'To whom those gloves belonged, Jane, was a woman of rather large limbs. I paid twice as much for them, too, in order to learn your feelings.'

'A waste of good money, sir.'

'Well that is yet to be seen; it paid for knowledge of which I now make use.'

It was although I looked into a mirror at that moment, the way in which we smiled at once, and with which our smiles fell away; our sad, brooding eyes divided.

'Now let us talk seriously, sir, about this proposition.'

'You will stay then, Jane?'

'That shall depend on a few points. Will I live at the school?'

'Just as soon as I have furnished it, yes.'

'Do you own it, sir?'

'I do, Jane.'

'It is not then occupied at present?'

'No: it was home to a stonemason and his family; and his work can be seen here at Thornfield; besides repairing the main wall, I commissioned him to re-carve some worn images in the gardens and up by the church. But having had a better offer of employment more than twenty miles off, he relocated his family as of last month. The cottage is in very good condition, and only three miles off Hay Lane. – Jane, you shall be your own mistress. You may take on your own pupils.'

'Then Adele, sir, shall go to school as aforementioned, because this school will not be of that kind she should attend.'

'Indeed it is not. She shall go off to a school for young ladies as arranged. You, Jane, will not be teaching the children French or the globe; nothing of that sort. No, indeed, you shall only be instructing in domestic economy, such as sewing, knitting, and arithmetic at best. But is this not too simple for you, Jane? What shall you do with your accomplishments?'

'They shall keep, sir, for whenever they might be needed. Although, I fear that with sending Adele to one school, and me, in a sense, to another, which you shall have to manage financially–'

'What of it, Jane?'

'It is all too costly, Mr Rochester.'

A small kink to his lips and shake of his head intimated to me that it was nothing.

'I would pay for one hundred schools if the result keeps you near me, Jane, in the capacity of friend! For so you are! We shall always be something akin. The best of friends, at the very least.'

'At the very most, sir,' I braved to say, though I regretted the rebuff instantly. Mr Rochester rested his elbow on the arm of the chair while his hand went to his mouth. Slowly he nodded his head.

'Yes, Jane,' was the long awaited reply. 'Jane,' he said at length, getting up and moving towards the casement. 'You are my little friend, are you not?'

'I am, sir.'

'And as such, I would wish to visit you often. You know this?'

I faced forward. 'I do, sir. The question is how often?'

'Oh, it's no time for such details. – Jane, the sun is about to gild the horizon; and there is the morning star; what luck!'

'And yet I should know what I am getting myself into, sir?'

'I want to see you every day, Jane.'

'No, sir.'

'Then every other day, at least.'

'Once a week is good enough for church so must be good enough for you, too. Unless you see yourself as better than God?'

'Jane, you torture me!' He turned about. 'My eyes must see my own deity oftener!'

I met those eyes. 'Sir, that is–!'

'–Well then, Janet, sorceress as you are! can you not cast one of your spells over me, make me young again; a small child, just so I can attend your lessons and sit before you all hours of the day?'

'You would make a fine pupil, Mr Rochester, in that attitude.' I smiled. 'But little children do not know love as we do. You would fall out of love with me quickly, and in love with messing with my chalks and chasing other children.'

'And you'd not like that, Jane? If I fell out of love with you, would your problems be solved?'

Mr Rochester here proceeded slowly to close the distance between us.

'Now, sir, let us speak no more of love.' I pulled the bedclothes up further and turned my face towards the door. 'I wish to return to sleep. You have my answer; I beg you will not as soon change it.'

He shook his head. 'I would not. To retain your friendship, Jane, your person near mine, is all I ask. It shall do much good in Hay to have a little village-school, even if the motivations at first are not what they ought to be. The result, at least, will be the very best. God Himself will smile on your work.'

'On _our_ work, sir. Do not be overly modest; you are no Moses – you shall not be barred from entry; at least, not from anywhere but my chamber at an unreasonable hour. So off with you, sir. I want sleep.'

Mr Rochester exaggerated a bow and smiled. Yet before quitting my room, he had me reiterate my promise to run his village-school.

I slept no more and thus changed into my black stuff gown, before taking a stroll in the garden just after sunup. By eight o'clock, Adele – having spied me from a window – rushed out into the garden with Sophie following close behind.

'Good morning, Miss Eyre! You are like me and must come outside when the day is so fine! You seem different. I have not seen you look this happy for a long while. Shall we have a lesson to-day?'

'You are going to school in a few days, Adele. You need not sit any lessons with me, unless you wish to have one?'

'If it means I can see you then I do. And I have been so bored without your lessons!'

'I am glad to hear it, Adele. What shall we learn?'

'I should like to learn skipping.'

'Skipping? Adele, I have observed you skipping many times. Where is the aspect of learning?'

'Can you skip, Miss Eyre?'

'Ah, I see; you wish to assume the teacher's role. Do you think that would be interesting?'

'Oh, yes – yes! Miss Eyre, I shall show you how to do it. Oh, please! It is not fun to skip alone or just with Sophie. I wish to see you skip too.'

I thought this a wonderful distraction from the route in which my present thoughts were ultimately bound.

Adele ran inside to claim a rope from someone – probably Leah or Mary, and came back with it to show me how to skip. We took it to the nearest lawn and there she handed Sophie one end and she herself held the other, showing me how to jump when the great cord came at my feet. Never had I enjoyed a game as this; nor felt the energy it conjures, which is nothing to long walks. I relished the very breathlessness of it! – one last jump, by which I held the skirt of my gown just out the way of the rope, and landed on the lawn with a great laugh. Adele whispered that Mr Rochester was watching from an upstairs window and instinct turned my head in search – indeed, I shaded my eyes from the sun with my hand (I had no shame in looking to he who sought me out). I saw him; he saw me: he saw me laugh and play, as if in jubilee of his endeavours. He smiled and gave a few lingering claps before turning away, just as we were dispersing. My eyes then very naturally wandered up to the third storey. She –_ Mrs_ Rochester – never played in the garden. Never would she jump a rope, or laugh, or be congratulated. As I returned to enter the house, a pang brought reality crashing down, and just as my master exited the door to mount Mesrour (he was dressed for riding), he stopped upon seeing me. John handed him the horse's bridle before going to open the heavy yard-gates.

'What is it, Jane?' His brow crumpled and eyes searched. 'You have not changed your mind? You were literally jumping for joy not ten minutes since. I am just going to see Mr Wood–'

'No, sir, my mind is unchanged–'

'Then there is a God!' said he, sighing in relief, before springing to the saddle.

'Sir–'

'Now, Jane, tell me your vexations, quickly? What troubles you?'

'A subject which is utterly exhausting to us both.'

'Still?'

'Perhaps it is best to speak of it later, after your visit.'

'After my visit, Jane, I wish you to accompany me to see your new home. Now that is a better expression! You do wish to see your new home to-day?'

'I do, sir.' – Presently, Mrs Fairfax came to the threshold calling for Mr Rochester. The great steed's fore-feet were dancing on the ground in impatience to gallop away.

'Well, what is it, Mrs Fairfax?' said he, looking down. 'Am I to be accosted by every living soul at Thornfield before noontide?'

'Excuse me, sir, if you please; I only wish to inquire after your health since you did not seem at all yourself before breakfast?'

'I am better, madam; I thank you.' He touched his hat, to which the widow returned inside smiling.

'Are you unwell, sir?' I took a step forward towards he who sat lofty upon the great steed.

'I am very well, Jane. On this fine and fresh day we shall settle a few things and have your little school up and running before you can say "I shall advertise!" – now, be ready for me in one hour.'

Away he rode – my master's strong figure so vigorously riding the steed assured me that nothing was likely to ail him.

When Mr Rochester returned I was waiting near the stable in my bonnet and cloak, since the day grew greyer. He gave Mesrour to John and subsequently ordered a gig ready.

'The road to the cottage is narrow to be sure, and the carriage will not go through it, nor over it, so easily.'

When John brought round the gig, Mr Rochester helped me up to sit next to him in the driver's seat, where I soon inquired –

'What does Mr Wood say, sir, about the school?'

'He says, "Yes, Mr Rochester, I shall do precisely as you ask", because he is the incumbent of my parish, Jane.'

'But is he happy to have more responsibilities?'

'He is happy to have more discourse with his congregation – for when those children are given lessons, their parents are more disposed to speak with him and such. – When we take the next turning, Jane, you shall need to hold on tighter; the road is not smooth.'

We had turned onto Hay Lane in the opposite direction to Millcote, before taking another way, a dirt track, rising steadily onward. It was too in another direction from which way I had fled Thornfield. The road inclined steeply and far ahead I beheld cottages and small barns dotted against the hillside; enough to call it a hamlet, though there was some distance between the buildings. Above these, the hill continued upwards sharply, covered here and there in heather, and gave the impression that nothing could exist beyond its lofty, craggy rise.

Mr Rochester pointed out a small stone building: a white chalk-block with thatched roof, on a small plateau carved out against the hillside. A belt of evergreens flanked the cottage, and a threadlike weave of road led to it from where we headed: towards my new home. 

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><p>…<p>

Thanks for reading!

P.S. If you do like my ideas and style, then you might like my novel, Halton Cray, which is available on Amazon for a bargain as an ebook and in paperback. Inspired by Jane Eyre, it is a contemporary paranormal romance set in a Tudor manor in southeast England.

P.S.S. Thank you to those of you who bought Halton Cray; I really appreciate your support and kind messages!


	8. Chapter 8 - School with a View

**As always, thank you for your reviews! I haven't quite gone up a whole hat size yet, so if you feel like reviewing this then it would be great to know your thoughts (even if I end up going down a hat size – all constructiveness welcome!). **

**So Jane has finally got an offer worth staying in Rochester's life for! But I wonder if their course will start to run a little more smoothly now… ;) Hope you enjoy!**

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><p><span>Chapter 8 – School with a View<span>

The track over which we now rolled roughened considerably, and narrowed so much that I began to doubt we could go farther in the gig. Undaunted, Mr Rochester continued navigating the horse on with a sure hand. Its powerful legs trod down the muddy path ahead, climbing the hill steadily.

'You look happy, Jane,' observed my master, 'excitable even, as you take the air. Do you like what you see?'

'Truly, sir. It is a wonderful sight; very picturesque; quite moving.' I craned my neck to better examine the rolling fields and each their hilly peaks, here and there topped with a little dwelling place. Up in these heights the trees all grew wind-shaped, bent over, their branches like harrowing arms reaching out sideways where that constant rising wind pushed against them. The fresh gust filled my lungs now, it combed and rippled through the grass wildly before my eyes, each blade shimmering under the sunlight.

I gripped the side of the gig tight and looked behind. 'Does the cottage have this view of Thornfield Hall from its windows?'

'It does, Jane; better, I should think. I hope that will not displease you?'

'I cannot yet say. I hope not.'

One last jolt forward over a small rise and we were on leveller ground before the cottage, which looked a good size for the village-school and my new home. A well-trodden path in the grass ran one way and another in the opposite direction, which curved off towards a number of houses distantly.

Mr Rochester jumped down and then helped me to alight. The cottage was too large to warrant the word snug, and yet it had a cosiness about it. I looked forward to being an independent person, having somewhere to call home where I could retire to while being not so far from others. We stepped inside to the main room, which was for the most part unfurnished, and presently bathed in sunlight. Finding its floorboards clean, the walls were bare on one side and pierced on the other by three ornamental windows hung with little white curtains. They faced the front. The grate was spotless and on the hearth stood its burnished fire-irons.

'This of course is the schoolroom, Jane,' said he, as his tread echoed off the wooden boards, 'and it shall easily take twenty children, if you wish to have as many. We shall fill it with dainty chairs and tables. There is a dais to the front there, you see, and do not you think it would make the perfect place to give out general instruction?'

'I think it marvellous, sir; a truly magnificent building–' I paused and turned to him. 'Mr Rochester, I am very grateful to you for thinking of this, for giving this opportunity to me.'

He wrestled a coy smile. 'You must adorn these white-washed walls with your paintings, Jane, to expand the minds of your pupils, and ensure they develop a confidence in the one who teaches them. Now let us see the living room.'

There was a table and two chairs, and in the kitchen beyond was a sideboard under the hill-facing window. While Mr Rochester busied himself checking the solidity of cupboards and door-frames, I quickly ran upstairs to find one good-sized bedchamber nestled within the eaves. It was weatherproof and sound as anyone could wish, as well as pretty with exposed wood beams. All the front windows boasted exquisite views of Thornfield Hall, where I could see smoke exiting one chimney at approximately where Mrs Fairfax's parlour would be.

'How long do you suppose until I can live here, sir?' I asked on descending the narrow staircase.

'Just as soon as it is furnished, and your hearth is supplied with wood, and your cupboards with bread. Perhaps a fortnight, or less. Mr Wood will meantime speak with the locals and canvas for your pupils. John may bring you to-morrow so that you can begin planning and arranging your school without my interference. – Well, I don't know what to do with so many smiles, Jane. I feel I have put my hand into a beehive and pulled out a fistful of honey.'

'I like it very much, sir.'

'Then we can live happily enough, Jane.'

We had entered the house while the sun ascended proudly to the highest region of the sky, and now we exited as she covered herself in a gown of greyish cloud. Mr Rochester took up the reins and turned the gig about, before descending on the dirt track once more. I could not level my smile at the idea of coming back to-morrow with John to begin my own arrangements. A sudden thought occurred to me: what if the locals knew of my relationship to the master of Thornfield? What if they suspected me to be his mistress whom he keeps nearby?

'Well,' thought I resolutely, 'I am not guilty of it, and I shall demonstrate how he does not visit me often or alone. He may come to the house once a week, but he will bring Mrs Fairfax also. He won't like that, but there it is. If I should be the centre of gossip then none will send their children to me, and I shall have no school to stay for–'

Good God! What a noise!

A snapping sound rang out from beneath the gig. It jolted and sank suddenly lower on my side, while Mr Rochester brought the horse to a halt.

'Sir, what is it?'

'Keep still, Jane; we hit something and I believe one wheel is giving way. Yes, I see the rocky mound – it has fallen from that wall yonder! Jane, we must dismount before the gig collapses. Hold on to the seat here, and the dash-board too. That's it. I shall climb down to lighten the load and then lift you out.' He did so quickly and put out his arms to me. 'Now place both your hands to my shoulders, Jane: I have you: jump!'

The gig shook as my feet left it and I heard the wood split again. Mr Rochester landed me on the grass beside him. The steed stood silent and still, bound to a lop-sided cart with one good wheel displayed; the other, which was part buried, appeared to be cloven in half through its spokes.

'What the deuce is to do now?' bellowed Mr Rochester, just as he went forth and took up the horses bridle. Next to the shallow wall were thickets enclosing the track on either side, though a break was visible at a few paces onwards. Mr Rochester led forth the horse, dragging the wreckage behind, until the way was clear. I followed curiously, asking if I might assist him, but was presently told to 'just stand to one side'.

He proceeded to release the steed from the shaft, before taking hold of its bridle and mounting with no saddle. He eagerly ordered me to approach. I obeyed knowing full well he would exult in this!

'Now we must ride the beast wild back to Thornfield, Janet! I thought that rock had fallen a little serendipitously on our path; now I am sure of it. – Do not look so anxious, Jane! John has ridden him many times.' He stretched out his hand and bent towards me. 'Ready, elf?'

'Thank you, sir, but I would sooner walk back.' I turned then on the road and began my descent. 'Please do not linger on my account,' I said, glancing back. 'I shall be along shortly.'

'You shall be nothing of the sort, renegade! The sky, Jane, is ready to wring her slippery hands all over us, and for what – an hour's walk at least, or two by your imp-like step. Come, Jane; I shall lift you.'

'No, sir! It is bad enough that we came to the cottage alone together. I will not have the locals see me in your grasp as though I were your mistress! Do you wish me to have any pupils at all?'

'Ah, and then I suppose my plan comes to nothing! So, as usual you are right and I am all obedience.' He jumped down from the horse, exaggerated a bow, and without another word took hold of me, keeping the horses bridle tucked under his arm.

'Sir, what are you doing?'

'Don't struggle, Jane, you are going up!' said he, elevating me until I sat on the barrel of the beast.

He gave a hearty sigh. 'I shall not argue with you all the way back, nor shall I trot behind you in the rain like a fool. If you insist on us taking our time, the least I can do is keep your wee bonny feet out of the wet.'

He led us onwards down the track, and just as a crack echoed across the sky, I relented. My master had already begun at a brisk pace, but now he turned on his heel at hearing me:

'Sir? I cannot let you drench yourself on my account. I will ride with you, but don't–' I paused.

'Don't what, Jane?'

'Don't enjoy it.'

He moved towards me curtailing a smile; ay, I saw it! He told me to shuffle myself forward to allow him room to mount. I did, and he sprang up behind me. 'I give you my word, Janet, that I shall try to think of anything but enjoyment. Now you must shuffle this way a little more – come along, lingerer! I am not covered with thorns that you might prick your fingers; you must hold on to me, Jane, or you shall fall off.'

Side-saddled, I edged towards him where he took hold of me and pulled me against him, so that his entire frame acted as my shield. Oh, how to keep from temptation's paws while crouched within its bosom!

Mr Rochester was an excellent horseman and he went on quickly as could be done. He pulled round his cloak and tucked me within it before the heavens opened upon us. The ride was indeed bumpy and I suspected he knew that the faster he rode the tighter I held on to him, though my arms would not fully encircle him. My mind divided and while one half wished to protest at the closeness, the other – the ever-persistent traitor – revelled to be in the arms of this man I so desperately loved. So tenderly was I held against his person, and so lovingly did his arm often wrap around me to ensure I was there, that I was safe, warm and dry within his cloak. Though the rain caught us both, it drenched Mr Rochester; the raindrops coursed his hair to drip off his heavy brow and nose, and then his chin. He did not tarry in getting us back to Thornfield. More than once he bellowed to hurry on the horse without his whip. Now and again, when the road grew smoother, or the horse slowed to trot over an unsteady passage, Mr Rochester would let go one of his hands on the reins, and pull me in tighter, and I clung to him – _my_ dear Edward!

We arrived soon enough at Thornfield. If it was not for the rain, I should have wished the journey back to be one of longer duration.

'Let me down now, sir, would you?'

Why did I look up into his eyes when asking this? He stared down into mine just as the rain fell lighter and the horse slowed to a trot. He did not pull me closer now, but leaned in to me. His eyes left mine and examined my mouth as he bent his head towards me. His lips were on the threshold of mine; and when I should have moved I froze!

'I'll not kiss you, Jane,' he whispered solemnly, 'unless you consent to it in words.' His fine black eyes went back to mine. 'Because I want your trust, and to be worthy of your love. And I will not give you any reason to leave.'

'Thank you,' I whispered, pulling away, and I thanked God too for giving him the strength I lacked! 'When you do as you have just done, sir, you know not how my respect, my admiration, in short, all my feelings for you increase abundantly. Do please let me down now?'

He loosened his grip on me, dismounted and then pulled me down into his arms. John emerged to take the horse and while he asked where the gig was, I made haste indoors and up to my room. Glad was I to be soon safe out of the house and farther from temptation. Mr Rochester did earnestly make me want him more when he acted just as he had done. My heart thumped hard and fast still. Never had I wanted him so much while I knew he was married! His look was not teasing, but longing and yet careful.

No sooner had dusk begun to lower her dark and starry banner over the lattice, than I prepared to go down to dinner. I went with not much of an appetite to Mrs Fairfax's parlour where she waited for me with Adele. The conversation turned immediately to my new home.

'I wish I could go to the village-school, Miss Eyre,' cried Adele, 'and I would do everything you told me if only you would let me go there too!'

'Adele, I shall be extremely busy even if only a few children attend the school. It would be unfair to neglect you. Mr Rochester always intended to send you to school, and you remember your promise to often write me?'

'I do promise, Miss Eyre; I shall write you on my very first day!'

Mrs Fairfax dabbed her mouth with a napkin. 'I suppose Miss Adela should like to be a teacher or governess someday? You must do something with such an education as you will receive. Perhaps you may return in six years and join Miss Eyre at the school as a teacher.'

'There, Adele, what do you say to that?' I asked, hiding the wandering of my melancholy thoughts on whether I should like to be at the village-school in six years.

Adele frowned and laughed at once. 'I do not think I should like that! I want only to dance and sing on the stages when I am full-grown, like mamma. Mr Rochester says I look and sound like her when I sing.'

'Yet that is not a vocation for Mr Rochester's ward,' said Mrs Fairfax.

Seeing some disappointment cross Adele's face, and knowing that children often jump from one ideal to another, I suggested, 'Do you not think Adele would make a fine teacher of ballet, Mrs Fairfax? There is nothing to stand in her way there, I think.'

Adele's face grew wild with excitement: 'Ah! I love it!' exclaimed she, rising instantly from her chair to begin twirling excitedly.

'Adele, that is quite enough. You may dance a little later if you finish your plate.'

After dinner Mr Rochester sent for me to join him as usual in the library. I sent Leah back with a request to be excused, saying that I was much fatigued and in need of an early night.

I heard nothing more and supposed he had accepted my apology. It was unlike him; I had expected to hear him at my door asking what was the matter. Perhaps he took me for being serious – and I was – my interrupted sleep the night before, and the exciting journey today had taken their toll.

Before I could think of sleep, I drew the curtain and let my candle burn while I sat in a state of drowsy thought. Foolishly, I laid back my head and fell into a slumber with my candle still burning. Did it catch to the bed-hangings? No, indeed, for I had not thankfully placed it so near. The flame merely flickered to that frequent visitor at great houses: draughts. It created shadows on my lids, which in turn created dreams behind them. In those visions the madwoman visited me. She stole into my room and waved that flame before my eyes, laughing, and taunting me with lighting the bed-clothes on which I lay. She then spoke; one word which I could not clearly interpret. In a deep, croaky voice, she spluttered the strange word repeatedly. It seemed then to become a cough, which was so violent a cough, I started from my sleep.

A racing heart had me spring from the mattress and ascertain the room was empty. Bertha Rochester was not here. My bolt firmly drawn. The cough – the cough was real! I heard frequently the sound of a hollow cough. It was deep and painful; I had heard similar before. I sought my slippers, and since I was still dressed, I took up my candle and unbolted my door quickly. Fear for Mr Rochester made me brave and agile. I scanned the corridor to see that it was deserted. I hurried to Mr Rochester's chamber where the sound of the cough grew louder upon me. In there I found him upon his bed, almost face-down, yet seemingly unconscious. His hair dripped with perspiration, the back of his shirt too, which stuck to his skin. I was unable to pull him up, if even to turn him enough to give him water. I could not wake him! His candle burnt bright, but there was no fire in the grate. Yet Mr Rochester's skin boiled and reddened with the heat.

'Sir? – sir, it is Jane Eyre. Can you speak?'

He could not shake his head, and had no breath for discourse. He tried to gain consciousness, but strength failed him.

'I shall wake John!' said I, flying thence to that man's far-off room. Despite his old age, I knew no other in the house whom could ride. Mary opened the door after what seemed like an age of bustling within.

'Miss Eyre?' she peered out at me from under her nightcap. 'What is wrong?'

'Mary, you must wake your husband and send him for Mr Carter directly! The master is gravely ill; he is feverish, short with breath, and I cannot wake him. Do tell him to hurry!'

She shook her head in the affirmative and called to John, before telling me, 'Go back to the master now, miss. I shall help John set off quickly and then come to you.'

I thanked her and flew back to Mr Rochester whom I found in the same predicament. A key sat on his dresser which I recognised. I claimed it, telling he who probably could not understand me, 'I shall return quickly, sir.'

I flew out the door and along the gallery with my candle in hand, towards the door to the third-story. Mounting those stairs quick as a cat, I got within that dim and low chamber, hung with the antique tapestry, where the great cabinet with the twelve apostles lingered side-by-side day and night. I looped up the tapestry where it concealed a door – for who could forget! I knocked loudly enough.

'Grace?' I called out. 'Grace? You are wanted urgently. You must come, you must!'

I heard a muffled noise, a growling and then the tragic laugh, followed by the jangling of keys.

'Do let it be Grace,' thought I, 'opening this door!'

The solid-timber cage unclosed a margin. 'Is that Miss Eyre?' inquired Grace in a concerned voice. She stepped out in her usual grey attire, immediately shutting off the room behind her.

'Grace,' I whispered, 'it is Mr Rochester. He is sick and I need you to help me turn him. I cannot lift him alone. Come, now.' I led the way with my candle and she followed. I could smell the gin on her, but it mattered not. She was strong as an ox, or so I believed, because her charge was heavy and wild, and she would have had to mind her physically many a time.

'I have woken John to fetch the surgeon,' I told her, hurrying to Mr Rochester's chamber.

Grace followed me inside to find my master lying as still as the bed beneath him. He coughed intermittently and tried to speak, his eyes opening for just a second every few.

Grace caught him at the shoulders and prepared to push him one way, instructing me to roll him also, following her direction, from just below her hold. He moaned heavily as she hauled him up a little, as I did too, and he coughed doubly now, as she turned him over and I helped her to achieve it.

'Jane,' whispered Mr Rochester, which was followed by the hollow cough. I put the water to his lips but he could not take a sip. I fetched a clean handkerchief from his dresser, and soaked it before squeezing drops on his lips. This gave him a little respite, enough to say my name once more.

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><p>...<p>

Thanks for reading!

P.S. If you do like my ideas and style, then you might like my novel, Halton Cray, which is available on Amazon for a bargain. Inspired by Jane Eyre, it is a contemporary paranormal romance set in a Tudor manor in southeast England.


	9. Chapter 9 - A Fiery Night

_**Thanks for your reviews! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, with a cup of tea perhaps, and some tissues… ;)**_

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><p><span>Chapter 9 – A Fiery Night<span>

Grace took up the master's ewer and covered the bottom of his basin with water. I prepared a compress to cool his head which grew stifling hot. Sweeping that mass of sodden black hair from his brow, I waited anxiously at his side. The cold compress, however, only warmed significantly when placed over his feverish skin. Soon, the remaining water in the basin began to feel warm and so I replaced it more than once.

Mary rapped at the door, putting forth her head through the opening.

'Has John set off?' I asked, rising.

'Not five minutes since, miss. He will not delay on account of the master. What ails him, d' you know?'

'I cannot guess. He has complained of something to Mrs Fairfax, but I know not what.'

At that moment Mr Rochester, who had not uttered another word nor moved much, grasped my wrist in his hand; it was as strong a grasp as he had held me earlier in the day, but soon fell limp to the bed. He signalled for me to approach him closer: I put my ear to his lips.

'Bring her,' he muttered.

'Mrs Fairfax?'

He nodded.

'Stay you there, Miss Eyre; I will wake her!' Mary hurried out the door. – She could not fail to manage it, for a great cacophony presently rang out from the floor above.

'Begging your pardon,' exclaimed Grace, 'but I must return to the missus upstairs.'

'Yes, Grace, thank you for assisting me!'

She was then gone too and I alone sat by my master holding his hand. Mr Rochester's eyes, as glassy as quartz, opened and closed. He seemed aware of my presence for he squeezed my hand.

'I shan't leave you again, sir.' – to which he smiled before faintly groaning and turning his head. – 'Mr Carter will be here soon. Try to rest now.'

In my worry for him, I bent to kiss his brow while the room contained none to see it.

A sound struck my ear like that of Mrs Fairfax's voice; she was approaching on the gallery, and the poor lady was all upheaval with shock and worry. She hurriedly entered the chamber in a nervous fashion, and came close to the bed where I was perched. Now I drew myself away to make room for her.

'Mrs Fairfax is here, sir.'

'Oh, Miss Eyre,' said she, 'I only observed that he was not feeling himself since he complained of no appetite and a headache.'

'Please,' said I, gesturing that she usurp my place beside him, 'he wishes to see you.'

She sat down on the bed in a most awkward manner and leaned in close. 'Mr Rochester? It is Mrs Fairfax, sir. What can I do?'

I retreated to a distance, allowing them privacy since he had asked for Mrs Fairfax and not me, supposing it involved a matter of family business. I saw my master's lips move as Mrs Fairfax drew nearer, and concentrating on his sound only, she seemed to catch the words he whispered. She rose and went directly to his writing-desk, took up paper and ink, before returning to his side. There followed a lengthy process of slow but concise dictation. My breath caught sharp in my throat: I knew then that Edward Fairfax Rochester considered himself a grave man. My heart plummeted with rapidity as if weighted with iron certainty: the unimaginable thought – he might die! – Presently, I heard Mr Rochester utter my name to Mrs Fairfax, accompanied by the words 'school' and 'Thornfield'. Mrs Fairfax, having written perhaps four or five lines by now, turned to look upon me in surprise, but not with an altogether disapproving eye. I turned away instantly, moving closer to the window – for I had no wish to overhear his directions! It was though difficult to remain calm while he used his strength, all the energy he had, in providing legacies! This was what it was about; I knew it and I cared nothing for them! This was just like him! I paced the room and fretted; I wanted to leap forward and tell him to stop all this and to think only of his health. Mrs Fairfax seemed to have concluded her employment, and it needed only for his marker, which she helped him give. Then she provided her own beneath Mr Rochester's, before insisting on that of Mary also, as another witness, before she folded the document and sealed it with wax. She moved towards the door and told Mr Rochester aloud –

'I shall have your instructions carried directly to your lawyer first thing on the morrow, sir.' She hastily wiped her eyes and placed the letter in her dressing-gown pocket.

I went to the bed, my mind much piqued on all this kerfuffle over material things. There I sat beside him. 'You should not be concerned with anything but your health, Edward!'

He grasped my hand and swiftly put it to his lips. In this moment, seemingly more relaxed, he almost smiled, before gesturing for water. I gave it best I could from the glass. He groaned in some pain of which I could not determine from whence it came, nor could I relieve him. Never had he seemed so utterly helpless, so incapable, so dependent; and yet appearing in the most excruciating pain, he bore it with the least complaint; though I saw him convulse to agony, many times biting hard on his under-lip. He muttered something unintelligible that I could not get him to repeat.

Galloping! I heard a horse on the approach! My heart rose, filling with hope, it fuelled my legs into action; I leapt up and to the casement. It being very dark out, the moon presently sinking behind a cloud, I beheld the silhouette of a single horseman – I feared it was John alone! I heard too only one set of hooves on the way. The front door had opened and voices echoed from downstairs. They very soon drew near, and I went to the door hoping to see the man required. Mr Carter hurried into the room while removing his hat, and passing me with a speedy greeting. 'I am at least glad to see that you are well again, Miss Eyre.'

'Thank you, Mr Carter. Please–'

'John could tell me nothing,' said he, approaching Mr Rochester while removing his coat, 'I rode on ahead of him. – Mr Rochester? Can you hear me?' He examined my master's eyes and neck, ears and then his mouth. 'Miss Eyre, can you tell me what has happened here?'

I told the surgeon all I knew; how Mr Rochester had seemed very well during the day, and that the cough was a familiar sound to me; I here mentioned Helen Burns. He took from his bag a stethoscope with which to listen at my master's chest and that mighty organ within. Having concluded that his symptoms were pulmonary, the surgeon returned the horn to his bag. Presently Mr Rochester's agitated voice cried out amidst his groans –

'God help me on such a fiery night!' he yelled, stretching back his head and neck, as though some unseen fiend wrestled with him. 'Deliver me from this hell!'

'Calm yourself, Mr Rochester,' answered the surgeon. 'It is quite cool. You are not well; try to–'

'The air, Jane! the air is like sulphur-steams!' – on hearing my name, I flew to his side and took his hand in mine. – 'Help me, Jane, do!' said he, opening his eyes, fixing them on me and pleading, 'For God's sake! get away these mosquitoes buzzing round me!'

'There are no mosquitoes, sir, you are not in Jamaica now,' I answered, catching on to the thread of his language. 'You are in England; you are safe! _Edward_?' – impossible to go on with tears coursing my face! 'Mr Carter? – please help him!'

He was preparing something from his bag. 'I shall try to draw him out of his delirium,' said he, returning to my master's side. 'You must not be alarmed, Miss Eyre; I must raise a blister first on his shoulder, and I must do it now while his eyes are uninflamed; to draw out the _serum_ will thicken the blood and help to prevent further obstruction to the brain. – but what is this?' (pulling open the top half of Mr Rochester's shirt), 'Do you see here the rash on his chest? How sudden this disease has taken a severe turn!'

Terror struck me hard in the heart; it buried there its beak and talons deep. 'Disease?' I reiterated tensely.

'It is the Typhoid. There is no mistaking it.'

'You are sure?'

'Certain.'

'Will he die?'

Silence.

'Mr Carter?'

'It is very progressed;' he spoke apologetically, 'there should have been other symptoms, such as malaise, showing days or weeks before the rash developed.'

'He has shown no malaise. Only Mrs Fairfax observed that he was briefly unwell this morning, but otherwise he has been cheerful and active. These last two days he has been especially happy on account of an occasion.'

'Perhaps laughter has been its disguise. Now, I must advocate a purge to rid the body of surplus _serum_, Miss Eyre, in an attempt to restore the body's natural equilibrium of its humours. The fire must be lit and built up so as to nurture the fever. All the windows covered; we must prevent any draughts entering the room.'

I let go my master's moist hand, though it wrenched my heart to do so, and went to the door to call for Leah and Mary.

The former came to light the fire while Mary covered the windows. Adele was now on the gallery asking questions as Mrs Fairfax endeavoured to coax her back to the nursery.

'Jane! Jane! Jane!' my master's voice bellowed anew.

'I am here, sir!' retaking his hand.

'This is you, Jane, is it not?'

'It is, sir – it is Jane Eyre!'

'Great God! – what delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has seized me?'

'Do calm yourself, sir–'

'Who speaks?' he asked then, his searching eyes vainly explored the empty space above him. 'Is it only a voice? Oh! I cannot see, but I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst!'

He groped; I arrested his wandering hand and prisoned it in both mine.

Mr Carter proceeded to raise a new blister on his arm.

'Brace yourself, Mr Rochester – and also, Miss Eyre,' said he, now applying another blistering-plaster. After some moments Mr Rochester convulsed to inexplicable pain.

'Mr Carter, I am afraid for his life!'

'I must draw him out of his delirium before the fever peaks; it is the only way.'

Mr Rochester neither spoke nor groaned now; he seemed too weak. Mr Carter ordered all others from the room, telling them that the chamber should be as dark and silent as can be, 'just as,' he said, 'when the eyes are sore they wish only to be covered and left alone.'

The room soon became stifling hot. Mr Rochester lay on his bed atop his soaked bedclothes; his skin pale and shining as polished marble. How limp and fatigued his body looked!

Half an hour of silence ensued before Mr Carter took up again his bag and stethoscope and listened at his chest.

'Alas, his heart is weakening.'

There was a significant pause, during which I experienced an ordeal: the room spun and it felt as though the floor moved beneath my feet. Mr Carter it seemed was meanwhile applying something to Mr Rochester, perhaps a stimulant. After a few moments he listened to his heart and declared that sadly there was no change.

I could do nothing but look upon Edward. Mr Carter came into my view purposefully to gain eye contact: 'Miss Eyre, you must prepare yourself. I'm sorry to grieve you but there is little more can be done for him. We shall know by morning.'

Again I gave way to my emotions, allowing my tears to flow liberally. I swallowed them down to ask –

'Is there anything I can do, Mr Carter, anything at all to increase his chances of survival?'

Mr Carter shook his head and answered, 'I would have thought with his constitution– but; the rash, you see, is an indicator of fatality. We can only try to make him more comfortable.'

'I should do that, sir, gladly, if nothing more.'

'Any more perspiration should be absorbed away from the body; but his clothes are wetted to the skin, so must be changed. It is necessary for his recovery to be kept dry, as well as add somewhat to his comfort. Will you help me to accomplish the task?'

'I will,' returned I instinctively. Immediately I sought a clean night-gown from his dresser. Then I slipped out the door to find Mrs Fairfax, and got from her fresh linen. Returning to the hot room, I closed the door quickly behind me.

I helped Mr Carter remove my master's shirt and breeches, and pull the soaked bedclothes from beneath him. Never before had I seen a man in his natural state; and never would I have chosen to if it was not required of me. I was disposed to aid Mr Carter, whether the task made me blush or not, I obeyed all his instructions. Mr Carter covered him with some linen quickly, but not before I had shied away to the sight of Mr Rochester's flesh. Still, this was the man I loved entirely; seeing him so helpless and uncovered had been necessary, and I felt it my duty to care for him.

Soon, he lay on the dry linen and in clean night-attire. He had not made a sound while we moved him; not a heavy breath was sighed, nor a protest or indication of consciousness.

'Mr Carter, will you listen to his heart again to see how he does?'

It was clear that the surgeon nodded only to oblige me, and after he had examined my master's chest again, he delivered me another blow.

'It is failing. I must tell you how unlikely a good outcome is.'

A light rapping on the door pulled Mr Carter away to answer it. I heard Mrs Fairfax asking if anything more was required, to which he repeated that little more could be done, but that 'he would remain on hand lest there is any sudden change.'

'Then I shall just prepare your room, sir,' said the widow. 'May I bring you some refreshment?'

'Madam, you are very kind.'

She nodded and left us again.

'Mr Carter,' I muttered, 'do you truly believe that this is Mr Rochester's last night on this earth?'

'I shall not insult your candour by beating about the bush, Miss Eyre; I have said that it is my experience and my belief.'

For a moment I was mute; I knew what I wanted to ask, but the words seemed so direct, the implication too obscene. Oh, away with discretion! What care have I for that in this moment!

'Then, sir,' I spoke out, 'I should like to spend that time with him in solitude, if you please? I would sooner you took some rest while I can not, and I shall watch over him, and rouse you if he so much as coughs. You are not ignorant of my connection to Mr Rochester?'

'I am not, Miss Eyre. And if I may say so, it would be Mr Rochester's wish also. I shall ask Mrs Fairfax to show me to a room now. You will keep this room warm; the curtains drawn. And you will notify me at any change?'

'Yes, I shall, Mr Carter.'

He picked up his coat and left the room, closing the door quickly behind him.

I went over to Mr Rochester, knelt by the bed, and closed my hands at his side. 'If the Lord intended to take my dear master unto Him to-night,' I prayed, 'then I should gladly go too and to not be left alone in the world again.'

Seating myself by him, I stroked his hair and his skin for a long while; both were now dry, the latter still very warm. His chapped lips – I ran my fingers over them – reminded me of my own when he had found me on the moor. The memory of how terrified I had been to die seized me; to wander away from Mr Rochester for ever. How he had sought me relentlessly, found me, and given me water when he thought I was dead. I would have perished without that drop.

I stirred the fire and returned to sit upon his bed, now and again putting my ear to his chest to listen. I could hear something faint. The thought of giving him water came clearer to my mind, but Mr Carter was now likely to be in bed. I did not wish to disturb him, but I could not imagine that giving Mr Rochester water could do harm. The surgeon believed he was destined for the next world – what would a drop of water do, other than perhaps ease him in his last moments?

'Last moments,' I thought over these words again. 'I prayed these were not. But if they were, I should not wish him of all things to die of desiccation.'

Taking up the glass, I put it to his lips. I held a napkin below to catch any spills. He did not move, but the water eventually disappeared from the glass, after perhaps ten minutes effort. 'There!' thought I, moving away for a silent weep, 'I have done all I feel I can do for him, except to bid him farewell.'

I looked behind me and there he lay – dying. Returning to his side, I looked over his silent attitude, which was altogether a distressing sight; I feared it was the only sight left of him. He looked prematurely peaceful. A reminder of Helen – my dear Helen – brought tears again to my eyes. That one memory presently flooded my mind:

_While I tried to devour my tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen; it did not, however, wake the nurse. When it was over, she lay some minutes exhausted; then she whispered –_

'_Jane, your little feet are bare; lie down and cover yourself with my quilt.'_

_I did so: she put her arm over me, and I nestled close to her…_

In that same manner did I now nestle close to Mr Rochester. Having removed my slippers, I climbed into his bed and beneath his cover. I sunk my face into his neck and embraced him as I had Helen.

'If the Lord would take another from me, let him do so tranquilly in his sleep.' For now, I clung to my master tighter than Shame could cling to me. I told that feeling inwardly that it had better move off, for I was in no mood to hear its sermons! It uttered nothing, but drifted away and through the window. Only Grief dared linger in the room, and brought with it a wreath. Oh, my poor master – once almost my husband – whom I had often called 'my dear Edward!' Here he lay dying in my arms.

Memories of those precious times we had spent in gaiety sporadically interrupted my tragic thoughts now; I smiled to hear his epithets for me; to feel my hand in his as he swore to love me. Under a blanket smothered in tears both happy and sad, I should not have allowed myself to drift into a sleep.

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><p><strong>Now I truly didn't want to go down this path, but I had a new idea (is there a cure for that?), and things kind of took a turn. Some of you may not like what I am about to do, but some I'm sure will welcome the new approach. It's just that I wanted to feature a little more Shakespeare in the next chapter… He was fond of a tragedy, right?<strong>

P.S. If you do like my ideas and style then– yes, I know! you've heard it all before! Halton Cray. Amazon. You're sick of reading this ad. Sorry. I'm truly grateful to those of you who have purchased a copy and also those of you who reviewed it on goodreads/amazon – to get that support from you means the world to me, so thank you! I'm in the process of making a book trailer for Halton Cray, which I will be uploading to Goodreads in the next couple of days. Would be great to get some feedback if anyone is interested in taking a look. Thanks for reading! :)


	10. Chapter 10 The Nightingale and the Lark

_**Okay, so I've been feeling bad that I left the last chapter on such a cliff-hanger as that, so I have moved mountains (not literally) to write up this next chapter for you. Enjoy!**_

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><p><span>Chapter 10 – The Nightingale and the Lark<span>

_When I woke it was day: an unusual movement roused me; I looked up; I was in somebody's arms; the nurse held me; she was carrying me through a familiar passage; it led back to my dormitory at Lowood School. _

Night's songstress woke me from the dream; its tune of trills and gurgles whistled loudly from the garden. None carried me, for none moved. The room was dim and barely discernible; the fire having banked down beneath its ashes gave off no glow, though its warmth still hung on the air; it contended with a cool breeze that chilled my arm. A shadow or movement by the window alerted my eye, and turning my head, there I perceived that the heavy curtain had been drawn back: it now half-covered the lattice and blew in the breeze. The window having been opened, the nightingale sang loudly beyond. Had someone been in the room to unlatch the casement? I could not think that any would enter, other than Mr Carter to check on his patient. What if he saw us lain together so? – but who would disturb such a star-crossed pair?

Night's candles were burnt out. That cloudy dark sky admitted no light; the stars hid their fires behind them, and the moon – where was the moon – did she hide her pale face too?

Patient reader, it pains me now to recall how I laid there in my master's limp cold arms dreading what awaited me: the discovery; agony; the grief; acceptance.

The beautiful bird finished its song and flew away home. Soon, no sound disturbed the hushed air: all was still. I turned back with an ache in my heart, and nestled a little more into my master; I felt for his face to plant a kiss upon his cheek – my lips were met with his bristly jaw. With eyes slowly accustoming to the dimness, I told them to look their last as I beheld vaguely the outline of his strong features: his heavy brow, his very lips, his hair pushed back to allow me an injured view of his silent expression. I stroked his hair and my tears fell liberally. Giving out a great sob, I crushed myself against his body, to which he moved with a sudden but weak groan.

'Sir? _Edward_?' (pulling back my head from his) 'Did you speak? – did you move?'

Silence.

A wishful delusion? All my senses were alert! How hard it was to hear over the rapidity of my heartbeat–!

I felt it again! – a movement in his chest.

'Sir?'

'J-a-n-e?' came the dry whisper erelong.

I started. 'Yes, sir?' I gasped in both elation and shock.

For perhaps two minutes hence, I heard and felt only his breathing – a rasping echoed from his chest – building to a rhythm, as if he were gathering energy to speak again.

'Don't tire yourself, Edward, please! – only rest!'

'Jane,' he struggled to mutter again, followed by a cough.

'What can I do?'

'Stay.'

'Yes, sir. I shall stay here with you; I am going nowhere!'

I felt his warm breath on one side of my head as he exhaled in relief. I heard him and I felt him, though I dared not lift my head from his pillow, lest I woke up. He fell silent and seemed to have relaxed back into slumber.

Reader, it is quite something to be lifted from grief to elation! and a thing indeed to experience both at once, since it is not possible to leap from one to the other so quickly as the situation may do. I dreaded to wake up; I dreaded to get up and find him, my only friend! my one true love, cold in his bed, and my dreams at an end! The impending hour was not spent in the least bliss; for I was unconvinced he lived. How slowly Time dragged its heavy heels.

When the sky began blending her subtle tints of predawn-blue, though it was indeed still very dark, I heard again the bird singing in the garden: the song was quickly broken by another much more penetrable sound to my ear –

'Ja– Jane?' he began throatily, 'is it you – is it, Jane?'

'Thank God!' I muttered, embracing him instantly, 'you live!'

'You are certain?' said he breathlessly, 'I feel dead.' He groaned while trying to enclose me tighter in his arms: he could not manage it. This supremacy in the situation reassured my concerns at remaining in his bed; though I wished his strength to return, in due course, presently I rejoiced that I could be in no danger: he was too weak to make advances: we might lay here together and commit no sins. He huffed thrice more where he could not enclose me fully in his arms.

'Well then, Delilah,' said he very slowly, 'what have you done with me? I feel my strength has been sheared from my body!'

'You have been ill, sir, very ill!' I felt his hands. 'Blocks of ice! Let me have them to keep warm in mine.'

'Her very fingers!' he whispered hoarsely. 'I dreamt you were gone and I could not find you. Let me hold you closer, Jane – help me!'

'We are close already, sir.'

'Closer,' he pleaded.

'I should alert Mr Carter, sir.'

'I don't want Carter; I want you!' Again he could not help but relent to a sequence of dry coughs.

'I think you must have some water.'

He sighed, 'If nothing stronger to hand.'

I yet feared disturbing the vision by moving from his arms, but my master required water; and whether dream or not, I was obliged to fetch it. I now sat up and unable to reach the table where I had left his glass, I got up to refill it. With the room shaded in such heavy gloom, I got by mostly with my hands. I returned to Mr Rochester, sat on the bed and helped him to sip slowly.

'Thank you,' said he with relief, letting his head fall back, 'now come back to me, Jane?'

Reader, did you ever sit awake in the dark and wonder at a dream? I sat now on his bed and did just that. Did he live; did he speak – truly?

'Come, Jane, restore me to this world,' muttered he. 'You're unshod feet must be cold. Climb under my quilt; I like to have you near me.'

Whether human being or spirit, I answered the request by climbing back into his bed where I laid myself close to him, though he could not move to receive me.

He cleared his throat and managed to move slightly, only to loosely twine my waist with his arm. He could not though grip me at all.

'Oh, I must be dead,' he repeated erelong, 'and gone to heaven to wake with an angel in my arms.'

'I am no angel. Now do tell me how you feel? – has the pain subsided?'

'It is easy while you are here.' I felt his hand now moving over my waist and up along my arm, slowly to reach my shoulder, then to my face where he combed my cheek weakly with his thumb.

'Then I dare not move, sir, though I know I _should_.'

'Are you yet afraid, Jane?'

I swallowed down my answer; I said nothing.

'You think you will wake to discover this but an empty mockery?'

'Sir–' I clamped his bristly face with both my hands, 'I can't see you to know it by sight! You _are_ living? I am not imagining this? The hours I spent believing you would not recover–' tears stifled my voice.

'I am living, my fairy, I am here.'

'Oh, sir, I thought I had lost you. Mr Carter feared the worst and said the danger was most pronounced last night – that I was likely to see you for the last time.'

'Did he, the Devil! I suppose the sexton is now at the vault of my lineage, by the kneeling angel, preparing it to receive me, is he?'

'I hope not, sir.'

'Doomed to make my final commitment to that place of wailing and gnashing of teeth!'

'Not if you behave yourself,' said I, while his careful hands sought evidence that I lay in his bed: my shoulder being gently squeezed; my cheek stroked; my wrists encircled. Soon I felt the strength in his arms growing; his chest rising; an acceleration in his heart; his breathing falling harder on my neck.

'How should a man behave himself when he is lying at death's door with his lover in his arms? Don't move, Jane, for I cannot. You must not, and I have no strength. Glad am I, too, to speak truth; for if I had the strength I might try to–'

'–Say no more, sir, or I shall move.'

'–Take you to my bosom, Jane. You cannot deny me a kiss?'

'I most certainly can, and will! One unsanctioned kiss is far too many for a married man.'

'But if I behave, will you stay?'

A pause.

'Jane?'

'For five minutes more, I shall stay, sir, if you promise to behave.'

I felt his smile as he put his rough cheek to mine. 'You had no intention of moving, did you, elf?'

'Originally, no, I did not.'

'Because you love me?'

'Not _because_ of that. But because I do not wish to be far from you. Though I am certainly awake, it does not yet feel real.'

'You are awake, Jane, as am I. Jane, stay here under the covers with me. I am too weak to attempt boundaries, even if I should wish it – which I do not. Jane, you are shivering.'

'I am both cold and afraid, sir.'

'Then let me hold you and assure you, Jane – don't draw yourself away, come hither! Give me your hand. There! Do you feel the steadfast beat of my heart?'

'I do, sir, yes.'

'I ask you, Jane; let us embrace each other for the five minutes? To hold you in my arms while I am yet so weak?'

'Very well, sir, but no kissing. Only, _Edward_, do hold me!'

'I will do whatever you command, Jane. I will hold you; embrace you; breathe your little scent.'

I pulled the cover up over us both and pressed myself against his warm and muscular chest; my head nestled against his shoulder, his great arms encircling my entire frame.

'How hard and fast your heart beats, Jane.'

Here was I, delirious with his love! – _This_ is what I feared would come of my staying in this house! This is why I fled! Who can know to what depths of self-destruction one might fall when confronted by temptation, until they are in the very clutches of forbidden love!

'Jane?' he whispered softly.

I raised my face to his, finding his eyes upon me, now easier to see in the faint approaching light of dawn; they looked upon me full of love and life, and longing.

'So, Jane?' pressing his lips firmly to my lips. He breathed passionately, kissed me tenderly, while gathering me to his breast. It was some minutes before I found the discipline to break gently away.

'You must conserve your strength, Edward.'

'I have strength enough for this.' – again his lips went to mine; both his hands held me to him – weak as they were – while his caresses lasted. Pleasure whirled the contents of my head and sent sweet tingles of desire down my spine, where its arms reached across into my heart to heal a wound momentarily. He groaned with pleasure and whispered my name between kisses, and I began to panic inwardly. The moment was heavenly; it flew so close to heaven I felt God's eyes on me. I did not wish to part with my idol, nor my father in heaven, and so I gently extracted myself from his arms and said –

'It has surely been five minutes, sir.'

'"_Edward"_, my love!' He took hold of my hand; there he slipped something on my finger. I could not see it, but I felt it was his own ring.

'Dear Edward! I cannot take this, you know I will not!'

'Wear it, my little darling, as a symbol of our love.'

He kissed me again, but now I fought it. 'You know I cannot, and it is too big for my finger in any case. Now I really must fetch Mr Carter.'

'Then keep hold of it just until I am revived?'

'Let me have your hand, sir; I will put it back on myself.'

He broke into a fit of coughing as I slipped the broad ring back onto his little finger.

'But, Jane–' he spluttered, 'Jane, not one minute has yet elapsed.'

'You are mistaken, sir. It has been five minutes at least. In fact, I see the sun is soon to rise.'

'Sun?' he struggled to say. 'No, my love, it is not yet near day; you are thinking of the bright moon when that brilliant orb rises over Hay-hill yonder! It is yet the middle of the night, and a freezing night at that. You must stay and keep warm beneath my quilt. There, do you hear the nightingale?'

'Sir, it is a lark, that herald of morn is come.'

'Nonsense! I know its lyrics.'

'I am now satisfied you are living, sir.' I made a move to extract myself from his arms.

'Jane?'

'Yes, sir?'

He pressed his lips once more to mine, then twice more, before he said –

'I have exhausted myself, Janet.' He chuckled a cough. 'If you remain longer, I shall close my eyes now and rest easy while you stay?'

'If you sleep, sir, I shall stay.'

I saw his smile and his lids close to sleep, and this was evident in how deeply he breathed. I may have soon drifted off too. I woke before him, when it was perhaps late morning. Silently as I could manage, I climbed out of his bed, sought my slippers and went to find Mr Carter.

While the surgeon attended Mr Rochester, and Leah prepared the master a breakfast to that man's directions, I went to take something of the same kind in Mrs Fairfax's parlour. The hour for that meal was long gone by; it was closer to noon, but I was persuaded by the good lady to eat something. Tea and a small piece of toast were all I could manage. After which I returned to my own room to wash my face and smooth my hair, and then change my frock. Leah soon came to tell me that Mr Carter was leaving to visit another of his patients. I rushed downstairs to see him off, to thank him, to ask when he would return, and –

'How does Mr Rochester, sir?'

'He is very weak and will be for some time; quite congested, but out of danger. He is one of the lucky ones, and there are not many. It is unlikely his lungs will become inflamed, but I shall return in a few hours to re-examine him.'

Relief lifted the weight of the world from my shoulders.

'He must not get up or move too much, Miss Eyre, you will see to that? Plenty of bed rest; small amounts of food and fluid, no alcohol and no excitement.'

'Thank you, Mr Carter,' said I, shaking his hand.

I ran upstairs to Mr Rochester's chamber and carefully slipped within to find him sleeping calmly, other than for that rasping sound in his chest.

When the surgeon returned I went with him to look at Mr Rochester who was then awake, but so tired he could barely move. I went over to him, sat by his side and took up his hand in mine.

Mr Carter asked that he be given something a little more substantial to eat, and he directed too that my master would need assistance in many of the simplest tasks. He would return the following morning.

It seemed perfectly naturally, not just to me, but to the household, that I would nurse my master back to health. I planned to sleep the night in his armchair to be near him always – I had slept in worse and stranger, and certainly colder places! At dinnertime, I took up a tray and helped Mr Rochester to eat and drink. It was a lengthy process but I managed to get a quarter of what was on his plate into his stomach. After which, he was so exhausted that he could not remain awake, and so I took this time to wash his face and neck.

I plunged the sponge into the basin, wrung it out, and gently washed his features and hairline: his great jetty eyebrows, his grim lips and jaw; his neck and round to his ears. I pulled open his shirt and set the fabric back to expose his hair-roughened chest, his great shoulders. My cheeks burnt like the hot stove, yet nothing would induce me to stop – perhaps the only thing would be if Mr Rochester were to wake and boast at this captivity of my heart and fancy. I re-soaked the sponge and moved it across his massive chest as it rose and fell with the regularity of a north-easterly wind, and washed then his neck and arms–

'Jane?' he whispered.

The sponge I discarded to the basin; the towelling I quickly pulled over him. His hand was immediately seeking mine.

'Sir?' I swallowed hard. 'How do you feel?'

His eyes lifted slightly but he failed to move more. 'Like I have been dragged by chariot racers round the _Circo Massimo _for_ Ludus_, before being rescued by an angel; she heals me yet with her bare hands. How wonderful they feel on my aching flesh, Jane. Don't stop.'

'I need to fetch Grace or someone, so I can turn you on your side; I need to wash your back.'

'I can turn.'

'No, you cannot. You can barely speak. _Sir_ – please don't try! Oh, then let me help you –'

'Ugh,' he sounded out, puffing to roll over as I pushed against him.

'Am I hideous, Jane?'

'Yes, sir; you always were you know. Don't try to look round to me, or I shall commission Leah to finish this.'

'At your peril, you shall!'

I smiled to myself while I washed him, and I took no time over it now he was awake; I fought off any feeling and pursued the end of my task with only diligent efficiency.

'I should have pretended to sleep still,' he muttered. 'But I was so glad to wake to you. I dreamt I was in Hell, Jane; I dreamt I had fallen into the fiery pit. I lost my eyesight and one of my hands in the flames; but you pulled me from the fire, Jane, and loved me in spite of it.'

'Of course I did, sir. Now hush while I finish this.'

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><p>Thank you for reading!<p>

**Well, JE fans, I hope you enjoyed it! Romeo and Juliet was the tragedy – you may have guessed at the illusions to the lark/nightingale, the sun and moon debate, etc. But basically I wanted Jane and Rochester in bed for a cuddle, and Jane would never ever have gotten into his bed without a very good reason. Obviously, I feel I may have disappointed some of you with all the kissing (but surely, not too much!). I hope you enjoyed the romance! But what will happen next? Some exciting stuff coming up! It has been a while since chapter 1 where we last saw a certain someone I did promise to bring back later… will he appear in the next chapter?**

**News: my book _Halton Cray_ will be FREE to download from Amazon this coming Friday 5th, Saturday 6th and Sunday 7th December! This is a promotional stratagem offered by Amazon to enable expansion of an author's readership. My own aim is to garner as many readers/reviews as possible. Please feel free to take advantage. Halton Cray is a paranormal romance inspired by Jane Eyre and set at a Tudor manor in present-day southern England. Maybe the genre isn't your thing, but maybe you know someone who might like it? And if you're in the USA you can gift a copy for free during these promotional dates! Take a look at my Book Trailer on YouTube (just type in Halton Cray) to see if you think you might like my book. :)  
><strong>


	11. Chapter 11 - Farewell Adele

_**Thank you for all your reviews, support and your downloads! It was great to get some exposure for Halton Cray. A few of you had already reviewed my novel on Amazon, and I thank you again. Thank you, Anonymouse, for your charming review! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I recently fixed a couple of typos, so hopefully got those ones.**_

_**Now... I had rather more story than I realised to cram into this one chapter, so there was not sufficient room to do a certain clergyman justice, but he **_**is**_** on his way… We are building to another big moment! Hope you enjoy!  
><strong>_

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><p><span>Chapter 11 – Farewell Adele<span>

'Oh, but I do not want to leave Thornfield!' exclaimed my former pupil, while I brushed her hair for bed; 'not until Mr Rochester is well again.'

'Dear Adele!' I turned her about to face me. 'Now, you must not fret; Mr Rochester grows stronger each day.'

'Then why can I not see him?'

'Because Mr Carter prescribed peace and quiet for his recovery. However, Mr Rochester would be glad if you would go in to see him in the morning before leaving with John.'

'So I must leave?' She looked upon me with wide, glistening eyes; several true tears she shed.

'It will not be forever, and you shall return for holidays. Look here,' said I, leaving her for a moment to fetch a package I had left by the door. I never liked to indulge that susceptible _chanteuse_ in her character; however, knowing her fondness for presents, I had prepared her _cadeau_ to keep up her spirits. I handed her the little box tied with cord; and while she is busy opening it, I shall describe its contents. For the two nights succeeding my master's unexpected recovery, I had sat up in his armchair, by his hearth, to be near him; hear him breathe, and to keep watch over him. During this time, I found comfort in occupying myself with painting some miniatures of Adele's favourites. I had the greatest opportunity of drawing Mr Rochester from life, while he laid so weak before me; I then painted his portrait with the finest, clearest tints I could mix: a picture I knew Adele would welcome to take along with her. To this I added a pencil drawing of Mrs Fairfax, of Pilot, and one too of Sophie, for she was to return to France as soon as Adele was settled in her school. Finally, I rather quickly sketched out in chalk my own irregular features. These miniatures I had arrayed carefully beneath some leaves of tissue paper, which Adele had now discarded to study her prize in detail.

'Oh ciel! Magnifique!' she muttered gleefully with widening eyes. 'Miss Eyre, you have made Mr Rochester quite handsome in this picture!'

'I do not think so; let me see? – He looks just as he always does, Adele, I think.'

'Ah, here is Mrs Fairfax, and Pilot too! I like them all very much! But you have taken more time with these than with yourself, Miss Eyre. This is just like you!' She laughed while handling the hastily scuffed portrait that formed my likeness. 'Merci, merci! I shall treasure these!'

'And so you see that we shall always be with you.' I tucked them back into their box. 'You know only too well that Mr Rochester has your very best interests at heart, Adele.'

'I do know that, Miss Eyre.'

'Then you must tell him so in the morning. Give him no pains when saying farewell. You must kiss him and be sure to thank him for all his kindnesses.'

'Yes, Miss Eyre; I shall be sure to do it. I am grateful.'

'I know that you are. I hear Sophie coming; climb into bed now.'

I got a kiss and a smile before she nestled beneath her covers.

The morning was chill, the sky cloudless and the sun seemingly less bright for bidding Adele and Sophie goodbye. Mrs Fairfax and Leah stood on the threshold while I wrapped Adele's cloak tighter about her and pinned it before kissing her again. The water would not stand still in my eyes, and she saw me wipe my tears quickly away as they fell.

'Adieu, my little one. – Adieu, Sophie!'

John lifted an emotional Adele into the carriage and then handed Sophie within. With the door closed up, he got into his seat and drove on. I waved until my master's protégé was out of sight, as did Mrs Fairfax and Leah, before turning back inside, watching them dab dry their cheeks. How I should have liked to keep her near me; to continue in progressing with her; to see what I could have made of her; and I should have done, if not for all that business of falling in love. – A small academy twenty miles off, that was her destination.

I went directly to the kitchen to prepare a tray of breakfast for Mr Rochester, for it had become my routine to help him with all his meals. Needless to adjoin – for the reader, I think, knows me well – it had not become my habit to act shamelessly now that my master was well again. Those kisses we had exchanged, delightful as they were sinful, I could not bring myself to regret; I could not help it. Well preserved were they at my heart's core and I did my very best to never take them out to pour only sadness on them. Instead, I determined to express my affections, to help restrain often arresting desires, by simply helping him with his supper, or by reading to him, or performing such services as combing his hair and keeping him clean-shaven. When he asked for my company, I gave it; when he appeared gloomy, I did my best to cheer him. The removal of Adele seemed to have sunk his mood, I thought, while he lay propped up against his pillows, now and again seized by a cough not nearly as terrifying as four nights since. Perhaps the gaiety of her voice, or the trip of her little foot on the gallery, which often loosened the pressing darkness of Thornfield, were more to him than he liked to admit, though he would not confirm it when I inquired.

'What! No! Why the deuce would the removal of a brat move me to depression?' He paused before subjoining, 'If there is anything in it, perhaps merely a reminder that you will soon fly too.' Again he paused.

'How do you think she will take to the place, Jane? Will she be a pining outcast amongst strangers?'

'Who, Adele?' I said brightly. 'I rather think not, sir. She will charm them all, I am certain of that.' I hoped to snap him out of his present mood, though naturally I worried for Adele too. I looked forward to her first letter.

For the rest of the day Mr Rochester was quiet, near melancholic, but by the evening his spirits were picking up. Presently, he sat up in his bed.

'Will you give me your hand, Jane?'

'For?' I asked boldly, while lighting my candle from his, since I was about to go to bed.

'So that I might shake it in thanks for saving my life again, saucebox! Now what does that perplexing, strange turn of countenance signify? Why do you smile, Janet? – Well? Come, take my hand or I shall say something to vex you.'

'Say what you please, sir.' I approached him but pushed away his hand to feel his brow. 'Hmm.'

'With what elusiveness you utter "hmm", Jane: what can it mean?'

'You're not too warm, but you look a little flushed and you did not eat enough at dinner.'

'I shall do.'

'I think Mr Carter had better comment on that to-morrow, to be safe.'

'I shall do,' he repeated, holding out his hand a second time.

I did not like to refuse him again; I put my fingers in his. Uncharacteristically, he said nothing, only stared while pressing my fingers gently between his own; those fine black eyes pierced mine with as much mental energy as he lacked physically; a soft smile danced on his lips.

'Now I had better go to bed, sir.'

He relaxed his fingers, bid me good-night, and I was gone. And so the repetitive trial of tempting and taxing moments would ensue each morning and every evening until – at least I convinced myself it would be – I no longer resided under the same roof.

Slowly my master recovered his health, the swarthiness to his skin, his fuller strength, and soon came to leave his bed, and then his room, and within a month he was riding Mesrour. And to where did he ride Mesrour? To my village-school of course. And what a success it was! Mr Wood enrolled a number of local children while I had tended to Mr Rochester in his illness, and all in the name of keeping my master's _little Jane_ by him. I feel a burning shame while forming these words, but truth it is, and by truth, at least, I shall live as sinless a life as I can. Did Mr Rochester bring our chaperone, the widow Fairfax, with him, you would ask? Not on that first occasion, but it mattered not since I had a full schoolroom, plus Mr Wood in attendance with one or two parents to observe the progress of their young.

'How did I like my new home and work?' asked Mr Rochester in earshot of the clergyman.

'Very well, sir.'

'Is there anything I required?'

'No, nothing.'

'Was I sure; am I contented, my mind tranquil in my new situation?'

'Very much, sir.' – Though I answered truthfully, I could not say more to Mr Rochester – who would not stand calm to hear it – that though I was happy, it was exceptionally hard work; at least it was at first. Not just running the school, but my own home, too, and being entirely responsible for myself where I had only been but once before: when roaming the country like a beggar. Though a bird might fly eagerly free of its cage, it is liberated also of its guardian: its protector, and that dependable source of comfort and supplier of reliability. Living now happier in my new home, yet so completely independent of anyone or of any institution, the smallest errand of procuring my own food and household equipment – whether eggs and milk from a farmer or bottles and brushes from a shop – to the larger task of running the school were no mean feat. Mr Rochester insisted I order whatever I required through Mrs Fairfax, but the idea of relying on him for everything made me feel useless and ashamed. He alluded also to finding me a helper, but I stressed to needing none, simply because he was paying me a salary enough, and for school-related supplies, not to mention his loss for the income of the building. I did so wish there was that prospect of some independency from my uncle in Madeira. – Ah, reader, I have failed to mention that during that first week in my new home, I wrote to my uncle, John Eyre. Although Mr Briggs believed he would not recover from his sick-bed, I had yet heard nothing and so determined discovery.

In the meantime, I continued the labours of the village-school as actively and faithfully as I could. It required a deal of effort to comprehend my scholars and their countrified natures; wholly untaught, with faculties quite torpid, they seemed to me hopeless at first sight: but I soon found I was mistaken. When I got to know them, and they me, my language, my rules, and ways, once subsided, I found some of these heavy-looking, gaping rustics wake up into sharp-witted girls enough. Many showed themselves obliging, and amiable too; and I discovered amongst them not a few examples of natural politeness, and innate self-respect, as well as of excellent capacity, that won both my good-will and my admiration. I became known in the hamlet as the school-mistress, and was not rumoured – far as I knew – at being any other kind. I felt I became a favourite amongst these people, and whenever I went out, I received cordial salutations and friendly smiles. To live amidst general regard swelled my heart with thankfulness oftener than dejection sank it: and yet, in the midst of this calm, useful existence – after a day passed in honourable exertion amongst my scholars, an evening spent in drawing or reading contentedly alone – I would rush into strange and stirring dreams at night: agitated, full of the ideal, thrilling and stormy – dreams where, amidst unusual scenes, charged with adventure, with agitating risk and romantic chance, I again and again ended up in Mr Rochester's arms, and always at some exciting crisis. How these visions seduced me so often! before I would rally and break from their enticing grip best I could. The night would then witness my convulsions of despair and hear that burst of passion.

By nine o'clock the next morning I was punctually opening up the school; calm, settled, ready for the work of the day to begin, inviting its distractions. These generally lasted as long as the girls were with me. Come did the hours of evening again, and some idea would disturb my respite. Usually it was to do with Mr Rochester, either in the form of love, but often too in the shape of money and my dependency. My thoughts would as regularly turn to _Mrs_ Rochester, too: that poor woman with less a life than I ever had.

Mr Rochester soon took it into his head that visiting me once a week was adequate after all, so long as I accepted invitations to dine at Thornfield Hall virtually every other day. A few of these requests I managed to skirt, but all too often the dark lonely hillside or its whistling wind on my cottage spurred me on to see him; though, I never dined with him, but rather I ate with Mrs Fairfax; and only afterwards would I venture into the drawing room.

On one such occasion when accompanying John down the hillside in a new one-horse cart, I joined Mrs Fairfax for tea. We talked about a letter we had each received from Adele, before our discussion turned from her school to that of mine, then to my progress with my pupils, and next, to the running of my home. Being the housekeeper of Thornfield, Mrs Fairfax took a natural interest in the subject and all the particulars; furthermore, she gave me good advice. I did not mind mentioning the cost of the venture and my concern over it.

'The master would not have you worried over such a thing, Miss Eyre;' said she, 'you may count on that. I confess I do not like the whole business myself; though it may sound cold, I would rather have seen you arrange a new situation where you might have safely left Thornfield far behind, somewhere you would be less likely to err, and not fall into the clutches of impiety.' – I often felt this, wishing I had not heeded Mr Briggs's advice; that I had sooner written to my uncle or gone to Madeira hoping to see him but once; and yet Mrs Fairfax continued on a subject that decidedly changed my mind. – 'Mr Rochester would no doubt have gone back to the Continent to suit himself and not returned to us for a year. Still,' said she, gently patting my hand to reassure me in a moment of unease, 'he does so wish to have you near him, and I hope he does right by you. He certainly intends to and I no longer wonder at his making such hasty alterations from his sick-bed. – Oh, but I should not have mentioned that!'

'Do not upset yourself, Mrs Fairfax; you have mentioned nothing I did not know already. I own that I could not help overhearing my name when Mr Rochester dictated new terms to you, so I am not senseless to that he may have been leaving me a legacy. Only I do so wish he did not concern himself so much with providing for me.'

'Yes, well, the Rochester's always have been too concerned with finance over other more pressing matters, even poor health. But to be sure, he has no blood-family and so to who else should he leave his estate?'

'Mrs Fairfax?' – my cup I displaced to its saucer, while the good woman halted her words. Her eyes fixed on me as her lips froze, and her cheeks glowed bright. Her uneasiness at continuing with one more word became evident in this silence.

'Miss Eyre,' she uttered erelong, 'how careless I have been! I do beg your pardon, I had thought you said you overheard?'

'He made me his legatee? He was leaving me – _me_? – Thornfield? That cannot be true!'

'On the condition that you used the house and the income to run a school here; he did not stipulate a kind, only that you would be the main beneficiary: it was his particular wish. He seemed to have devised it all rather carefully, ensuring a certain lady's annuity. He insisted I get the letter to his lawyer first thing in the morning – why, he threatened to haunt me if I did not!' she feigned a shudder. 'I do so wish to know if you will mention this to him? I fear he shall be ever so cross and never intrust to me anything again.'

'Mrs Fairfax, you have my word that I shall not.'

The good lady nodded and began to talk about Mr Rochester's father and what he would have made of it, I heard nothing more but a dull ringing in my ears. 'His estate?' thought I, 'Why? What use had I for his estate if he was no longer living in it? He had already given me a school to run, that small dream of mine which I thought most likely unachievable, yet he had brought it about before my eyes.'

These thoughts and more besides filled my head: what had I done to deserve his favour above, say, Mrs Fairfax: a relative by marriage, and having served him long and faithfully – or even Adele as his ward! What had I done for him other than spurn his offer to love me always? Oh, well yes! I did save him from an inferno, some might say; but _I_ say that I would have done the same for any man! Mr Rochester would not leave his estate to any young woman! How peacefully he had laid back his head after communicating his wishes to Mrs Fairfax, as if ready to take his leave of the world, knowing, as he did, how I would be well provided for. Thoughts of his offer to take me to his villa on the shores of the Mediterranean and there make him happy, now came upon me with a vengeance. Against my better judgement, I began again to question whether he would have loved me always. He would for a time, and love me well; I knew this. Oh, from where did these thoughts emerge? What am I thinking? I never wanted to be anything like his English Celine Varens!

I quickly dismissed the thoughts before leaving Mrs Fairfax to enter the drawing room. There I found Mr Rochester; he proceeded from the depths of an immense easy-chair by the fireside.

'There you are! Come along then, if you please! Where the deuce have you been? You will be soon telling me it is nine o'clock and you had better hurry on home. – Why do you look at me so, Jane? What is it? You've a queer little smile, or is it a scowl; I cannot tell!'

I betook myself to the chair opposite him and inquired calmly into his health to-day.

'I ache,' he replied. 'But are you quite well, Jane? You look a deal paler. Tell me, what is this strange behaviour all about?'

'I am quite well. But can I fetch you anything? Where do you ache, sir?'

'Here,' said he, touching his chest (over his heart). I could not be sure of his meaning, and so I reasoned to inquire nothing more about it.

'Strange girl; so unusually quiet,' said he after a pause. 'What have you and Dame Fairfax been talking of to make you thus so mute?'

'Nothing of consequence, sir.'

'And what for "nothing of consequence" when it is clearly significant? You stare at me like I am an imposter.' He examined his hands. 'This is me, I think?'

'Yes, sir.' I could not shake off the heavy thought of Mr Rochester, _my Edward_, doing something so ridiculous, and yet so attentive, as to bequeath me his estate while he was dreadfully ill. I wanted to shout at him: 'Why?' while I also wanted to sit at his knee and smile upon him, as I once had.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! <strong>

**Sorry I couldn't get the **_**other**_** clergyman into this chapter. A few things have to happen before he can make an appearance, but no doubt he is busying himself with writing his sermons ;)**

**The next chapter shall be a 'St John Christmas Special' (lol) and I shall post it as early as I can on Christmas Day! Just a way to wishing you all a great Christmas!**


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